


Combat

by anomalation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Derek Hale Needs Therapy, F/F, Gen, Grieving, Homoerotic Yearning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lesbian Lydia Martin, Multi, Pack Bonding, Pack Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reluctant Intimacy, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) is a Ray of Sunshine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 68,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalation/pseuds/anomalation
Summary: “Oh here he is,” Stiles says, gesturing wildly. “The guy that had to almost die when I was busy, couldn’t wait for a few minutes.”Isaac leans against the lockers on Allison’s other side. “Take it up with the hunters,” he says, and then looks at Scott and shuts his mouth.“We don’t know they were hunters,” Scott says quickly.Oh. So they’re treating her like she’s a basket case. “It’s okay,” Allison says to all of them, including Stiles who is uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m not going to fall apart if you mention…” God, how to finish that sentence.“Fall apart, no,” Isaac says. “Stab me again, maybe.”“Yeah, what a loss that would be,” Stiles says sarcastically. “Whatever would we do without you.”A canon rewrite post-S2, removing most of the insane elements and focusing on Scott's pack. No kanima, no darach, no nemeton, and Peter and Kate both died for real.UPDATE: sort of sequelhere.
Relationships: Allison Argent & Derek Hale, Allison Argent & Lydia Martin, Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Erica Reyes, Lydia Martin/Kira Yukimura
Comments: 32
Kudos: 90





	1. Who Could Ever Leave Me, Darling

When Allison planned this reconciliatory mission, the last person she planned on seeing at Scott’s door was Isaac. As in, Isaac from Derek’s pack who she stabbed. There he is, though. Wearing one of Scott’s shirts and looking at her blankly. His eyes are the color of the lake. 

“Yeah?” he prompts after a second. 

“Is Scott here?” she says. Too harsh, too, but her mother taught her that, to sound mean rather than scared. 

“Yeah.” He just walks back into the house then, scratching the back of his head.

She has a knife on her ankle, she reminds herself. This werewolf won’t hurt her. So Allison follows him, shutting the door behind herself. Isaac walks back to the family room and flops down across one whole couch. Scott’s sitting on the other one with a textbook in his lap. “Hey!” He lights up when he sees her. Allison relaxes a little. “Come on, sit down. Is everything alright?” 

She sits next to him, arms crossed tightly. Isaac’s couch is perpendicular to theirs; she could see his face if she looked up. “Yeah, everything’s… fine. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk. I miss you,” she adds. “If that’s okay to say.” She’s hyper-aware of the other person in the room.

Scott smiles. “It’s okay,” he says. “I miss you too. Did you…”

“I didn’t come to get back together,” she says quickly. She was supposed to say that first, so there were no misconceptions.

“Oh.” Scott’s face falls a little bit.

“But I want to be friends again. Real friends, like before. If you want that.“ 

“Awesome,” Scott says quickly. “I’m good with that. I said I’d wait, so. Do you want to stay for dinner? We’re having empanadas.” 

Allison does glance at Isaac then. He’s looking at the TV. “Um, yeah, if that’s okay with you.” 

Scott understands what she’s saying. “Any problem with that, Isaac?” he asks.

“No,” Isaac says after just long enough of a pause for that answer not to be believable. “Your house.” 

Allison looks at Scott, unamused. Scott looks back, raising his eyebrows innocently. She thinks he’s trying to argue that Isaac’s telling the truth. He definitely doesn’t want a fight, and she doesn’t think she does either. “Are you sure?” she finally says, too loud for the small room. 

“Am I sure it’s his house?” Isaac says flatly. “Pretty sure.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean,” she says under her breath. And she’s torn right now, between thinking this isn’t worth it and wanting a fight so badly her vision gets red at the edges. Her mother is dead, and her aunt, there hasn’t been nearly enough blood spilled to make it sting less. 

Isaac must be able to sense it, in some werewolf-y way. He hears her heartbeat or smells the adrenaline, but either way he sits up and looks at her with sharp eyes. Allison’s heart beats faster.

And then Scott jumps in, looking between the two of them. “Look, I realize tensions are probably running a little high, given what happened last time you two were in the same room.” 

“Y’think?” Isaac says shortly. 

“But everything’s cool now. Allison doesn’t want to kill us anymore, and Isaac, you’re not with Derek anymore. As much.” Scott looks at her. “It’s complicated. But he’s on our side.” 

“What does that mean?” Allison asks, harsh again, always harsh. Scott makes her think about all her sharp edges. It was something she liked about him, how he loved her exactly the way she was and still encouraged her to change. But with Isaac here, she feels both too dangerous and not lethal enough. She needs to be on her guard. 

Isaac meets her eyes. It’s impossible to get any kind of read on him. Then he looks back at Scott. “It’s complicated,” he echoes. 

“Yeah,” Scott nods. He’s clearly uncomfortable. 

“Can I get any more specific reassurance?” Allison says once it’s clear that’s all Scott’s going to say. “I’m not feeling really convinced.” 

“I don’t think I need to convince you,” Isaac says, and there’s an incongruous tremor in his voice. That catches Allison’s attention. She hones in on it. 

“Well you’re the one that’s a monster, so yeah, I’m gonna need convincing.” 

Scott disapproves. “Allison.” 

“You know what I mean.”

“You could be nicer about it.” 

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want to be.”

Isaac’s drawn tight. “Maybe I don’t either,” he says. “Maybe I didn’t want a hunter here.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on seeing you.”

“Hey!” Scott takes Allison’s hand and looks at Isaac firmly. “Stop,” he says. Allison doesn’t pull her hand away, and doesn’t point out that Isaac jumped at Scott’s loud voice. “You guys can be enemies outside of my house, but here you’re going to be civil, at least. And Allison isn’t a hunter.”

Allison is more of a hunter than Scott could ever believe. He doesn’t know how her heart sings when she lets an arrow fly, how her pulse raced when she spilled werewolf blood. She has a knife on her, and she would stab Isaac again. She’ll always be a hunter. For a moment, she almost pities him for not knowing her that well. 

Isaac seems to be thinking the same thing. He makes eye contact with her again, but not in an assertive way. In a way like he knows he’s her prey. “Fine,” he says. 

“Derek is just… dealing with some stuff,” Scott said. “He’s kind of… well, complicated.” 

Does Scott really think anything he could say would change how she feels about the man responsible responsible for her mother’s death? She should tell him caring about someone isn’t the default baseline she gives everyone in the world, even if that’s what he does. And more than that, if Derek was any kind of worth caring about, Isaac wouldn’t hold himself so still at the mention of his name. 

“Okay,” she finally says. “Can I help with dinner?” 

“That’d be great,” Scott says, more than happy to move on. “You remember how we make them?” 

Allison gives him a look. “You think I’ve already forgotten how to make your favorite food?” 

Scott kind of sighs, and grins, and squeezes the hand of hers he hasn’t let go of. “Just a question,” he says. “Mom will be home around eight, so I planned on making some for her too.” 

“Awesome. Is she… how is she?” 

“Good. She knows about the wolf thing. Kind of had to tell her after everything with Jackson last year, but. She’s cool about it now.” 

“Does she know about me and my family?”

“No. But I’m sure she’ll understand, if you want to… I mean, she always liked you.” 

Maybe less so when she hears Allison tried to kill her son, kind of. But Allison just nods. It’s a nice idea.

Allison notices the moment Isaac decides the conversation isn’t worth his attention anymore. He leans back a little and his eyes flick to the TV again. And since he’s relaxing, she relaxes just a little. She kicks off her shoes and puts one foot up on the couch, so her knife is within easy reach, and she lets herself do some homework and watch TV. 

At around five, she gets up to start the food. Scott’s fallen asleep on the couch so she doesn’t wake him up. She doesn’t need to. Scott’s kitchen is more home than her own, and she really has made empanadas dozens of times. 

She’s cooking the meat when the hair on the back of her neck prickles. Her mind clicks through a couple facts - the stove is facing away from the family room. Her back is to Isaac. He’s close to her, she can feel it. The closest knife is two feet away, it’ll take seconds to reach it or the one on her ankle. 

She hears the fridge open, and then something is twisted open. Mechanically, she keeps poking at the meat as she listens to Isaac pour something and drink it. The knife is too far away to pick it up casually. 

“You can just take it,” Isaac says. 

Allison doesn’t jump, because she’s self-controlled, but she turns around to look at him. “What?” 

He gives her another blank look that’s slightly more exasperated, she thinks. “You don’t have to play dumb,” he says. She doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t crack under pressure. “The knife,” he adds then. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t pick it up, because she _can’t_ now that he’s mentioned it. “No, it’s fine,” she says. She doesn’t turn her back to him, though. She stirs watching him peripherally. 

Isaac takes another drink, and leans against the counter. He’s long and boney but his body is all curves. There’s something dangerous in the ease he moves with, something that sends her heart into her throat. Maybe a primal fear of something her body knows better than she does. Maybe her own fear of the creatures that killed her family. Either way. 

“Really,” he says. “Just pick it up.” 

She can’t stop herself from doing just that. She weighs the knife in her hand for a second, watches how Isaac tenses but doesn’t move. She sees a history of violence in that, in him sensing imminent pain and not trying to avoid it. And for some reason, that’s what humanizes him most, to her. 

She could throw the knife at him. She doesn’t. She turns most of the way back around and stirs the meat some more. 

Isaac doesn’t leave. She can feel his eyes on her. He keeps drinking whatever he’s drinking. 

“If you want to ask something, you can,” she eventually says, because she’s never been someone who waited for the other shoe to drop. “I’m not going to stab youfor asking.” 

“Sure you won’t.”

Whatever. She doesn’t have to convince him of anything. She turns back to give the meat a final stir and then takes it off the heat. Then she uses the knife in her hand to cut up the peppers. Isaac doesn't say anything. He just watches her, and when she glances up she catches a look in his eyes that she can’t quite figure out.

Scott wakes up when dinner’s almost done. His head pops up over the back of the couch, and he sniffs the air dramatically. “Hey,” he says. “Thanks. Sorry, I should’ve helped.” 

“It's fine,” she says. 

Allison watches Scott take in the fact that Isaac’s in the kitchen with her. It is a little unbelievable that he’d been there for the entire cooking process, actually. Allison gets the feeling that Isaac was uncomfortable just laying down while she cooked. She wonders if he thought she’d poison it or if he wanted to help. 

“Cool,” is what Scott finally settles on saying, and he comes over to join them. Allison takes the tray out of the oven. He watches, scratching his stomach. "Those look really good.” 

“Thanks. I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything.” 

“Definitely.” Scott is going to eat one before it’s cool enough, Allison can just tell. He’s eyeing them. And he does about six seconds later, cutting one in half and eating one half in two bites. “Really good,” he says. Isaac watches Scott closely for something. Apparently he doesn’t find it. “Want to try it?” Scott asks him, and Isaac shrugs. 

“Sure.” He eats the other half a little slower than Scott, but not much. No reaction from him until Scott prompts one. 

“Good, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Allison doesn't know if he’s telling the truth.

Mrs. McCall is home around eight, as promised. She's happy to see Allison, which is nice even though Allison knows she doesn't deserve it. Isaac’s a new addition to this particular group of her people and emotions, but not a disruptive one. Scott draws him into the conversation sometimes, but Isaac seems equally as happy just to be here. Allison finds his eyes on her more often than not. And maybe it’s just the lack of arguments between them but by the end of the night, she feels like they’re on civil terms. 

That thought, once had, consumes her. What kind of daughter is she, being on civil terms with the beta of the alpha that killed her mom? What kind of hunter is she? She should’ve thrown that knife at him when she had the opening. She should carve his beating heart from his chest and ask him how it feels. That’s what her mother would expect. 

She doesn’t say anything like that, though. She gives him a tight smile, even, at the end of the night, and doesn’t exclude him from the group goodbye she says. Scott asked for civil. If there's anything she can do, it’s put on a face for him. 

When she’s home, she stops by Dad’s office. He looks at her when she comes in, but there’s nothing behind his eyes. “Where have you been?” he asks because he’s supposed to. 

“At Scott’s.” Why lie? She just doesn’t mention Isaac.

Dad nods. “How is he?” he asks stiffly. 

“He’s fine. His mom knows about it now. The whole thing. So.” 

“Okay.” 

That’s all she gets. Dad’s lost without Mom, so Allison doesn’t have either of her parents. She has Lydia, an ex-boyfriend, and enemies. And Lydia isn’t answering her phone tonight, so Allison has nothing. 

Well. That’s not totally fair. Allison only allows herself a few moments of moping facedown on her bed before she makes herself sit up and get real. She has more than one friend. 

To be precise, she has two. Luckily, Jackson does pick up. “Hey,” he says, sounding bored. “What’s up.” 

“Not much, how are you?” Allison answers, doing her best to sound upbeat. 

“I’m not the one who called,” Jackson points out. His natural state is sounding exasperated with everyone, so she doesn’t take it personally. “What, what is it?” 

Allison opens her mouth and then finds out that she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what’s wrong. There’s so much. “I wish you hadn’t moved,” she says in the end. “There’s kind of… a lot going on.” 

“Yeah,” Jackson says, a little softer. “Yeah, I bet. How’s your dad? Still a terrifying maniac?” 

“I wish,” Allison answers. The silence between them hangs there, for a moment. “He’s not good,” she says then. “And I’m…” 

“Not either?” he suggests. 

“Well. I’m trying. But. It’s just hard to talk to Scott like everything’s normal.” 

Jackson sighs, an eye roll in the sound. “Why the hell are you talking to McCall?” he asks. “I thought you two broke up.” 

“Well, yeah but he’s still my friend.” 

“That’s a myth.” 

“You and Lydia, even, kept talking after you dumped her.” 

“That’s different.” 

“It’s not different! How is it different?” 

Jackson let out a little bit of a laugh. “It’s different because Lydia’s a stone cold bitch,” he says. “And we’re not in love and never were. Right? You still love the kid.” 

“Scott’s older than you,” Allison says, which is a yes. And Jackson knows it. 

“I wish I was back too,” he says, a lie. He’s bad at it, at trying to make her feel better and at lying in general. He never had to learn. “London’s boring. And ugly. Everything’s grey, and the tea sucks. I hate tea.” He doesn’t hate it that much, though. He’s happy there. And Allison is happy he’s happy. 

Then, the concepts of timezones occurs to Allison, about ten minutes too late. “God,” she says. “I’m so sorry, I woke you up.” 

“Nah, I’d be up in twenty minutes to run anyways. How is he?” 

Allison wishes she didn’t know who he means. “Good. He told his mom, she’s… in on everything now.” 

“Probably a good idea, with how many people end up in the hospital.” 

“Definitely.” The conversation lapses again, an odd silence. “Okay,” Allison says. “Well. I’m gonna let you go.” 

Jackson snorts. “Okay. You know you’re better than him, right?” 

He means well, but it sounds so much like her grandfather that Allison winces. “Thanks,” she says. “I’ll text you. Good night.” 

“Good morning,” he counters, and hangs up. 

A call from Scott is a pretty welcome distraction in the middle of a Sunday. Something’s still going on with Lydia, she’s been hard to get ahold since like, June actually. Allison’s dad hasn’t spoken since they woke up. She’s already finished her homework. So reservations about Scott aside, Allison answers on the second ring. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Hi, are you busy?” Scott sounds out of breath. “I need help. And I know this is a lot to ask, but Stiles isn’t picking up and I don’t really have anybody else I can-“ 

“What is it?” she says flatly. 

“Isaac.” 

She tries not to sigh. “Scott.” 

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry, I wouldn't ask if it wasn’t really important. He needs help.”

“Help with what?” She doesn’t say no right away. Isaac isn’t Derek. 

“Okay, really long story short? There’s bunch of stuff going on I haven’t really told you about, but two other members of Derek’s pack got captured and they were on a rescue mission or something-“

“This is the short version?” Allison says. 

“Isaac’s dying, I can’t take him to the hospital.” 

She doesn’t have to think about it for too long. Five seconds maybe. Maybe ten. “Where are you?” 

“By Derek’s house. He’s not here, so you won’t have to worry.” 

“Don’t werewolves heal?” Allison says half to herself, shoving her feet into her shoes and grabbing her keys off the desk. 

“Wolfsbane,” he says. “My mom knows how to handle it, she’s on shift.” 

“Convenient.” 

“Are you mad at me?” 

Allison is tempted to stop in her tracks to sigh really hard, but she keeps moving. “No, I’m not, I’m just… You’re asking me to-“

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t a big deal.” 

“I know. I won’t kill him on the way.” 

Scott snorts. “Nice one.” 

On the drive, she stews over that a little. Nice one, like she would never even think of hurting him. She could be leading the whole Argent family, and she’s not dumb enough to forgive werewolves just because one was her boyfriend and another one’s his friend. But. she doesn’t actually like the idea of killing Isaac - at least, not seriously. It wouldn’t be because he did something wrong. It would be out of spite, and she’s not that low yet. And there’s something unsportsmanlike about the idea of about killing someone who’s dying. It goes against the Code. 

She parks away from the house, in case of ambush. And on that note, she gets her big hunting knife out of the glovebox and straps the sheath on her leg. Just in case. 

A quiet couple of seconds tells her where Scott and Isaac are - around the corner on the porch. They aren’t even trying to be quiet; she hopes that’s because there’s no danger and not because they’re just being dumb. 

“She’s here,” Scott says to Isaac as she gets closer. “It’s going to be okay.” 

Allison wonders if he’d say the same thing if he knew she was questioning her loyalty to him altogether. Questioning everything she can think of, really, when her whole mind isn’t numb. 

Isaac has a set of slashes across his torso that are deep, bleeding heavily. She hasn’t seen anyone bleed this much and survive. He has other injuries too, darkening bruises and bleeding cuts. It’s odd to see him like this. Even odder to see him look at her with relief. 

“Hey,” she says. “Can you get him to the car?” 

Scott nods and lifts Isaac in his arms easily. Isaac winces. She thinks she sees his eyes go gold for a moment. “Thank you so much,” Scott’s saying. 

“It’s fine. He won’t shift or anything, right?” 

She looks to Scott, he looks to Isaac. Isaac shakes his head. “No, I’ve got that under control.” 

“Okay. In.” Scott helps Isaac in the back seat, laying him down and using a sweatshirt to staunch the blood. It gets all over the seat anyway. 

“Sorry,” Isaac says in a raspy voice. His eyes are on the gold side of green, and there’s fear in them when he looks at her. 

That’s more like it. He knows he should fear her. It’s her decision to show him he doesn’t need to. “It’s fine.” She looks at Scott. “You’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah.” He runs his hand through his hair, staining it with blood. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just some… yeah.” 

“Text me when you get home? Just so. Y’know.” 

“Sure,” Scott nods, a little bit of a smile on his exhausted face. “And you text me, when this is all figured out.” 

“Yep. Which, speaking of which.” She motions at the car. 

Scott nods quickly and steps back. “Yeah, go.” 

As she’s driving away, she sees Scott shift and start running. She thinks he waited so she wouldn’t see. She doesn’t know how that feels. 

Isaac keeps letting out sounds as she brakes and turns, and it’s pretty tough to ignore after the first, like, six times it happens. Eventually she glances back. “Everything alright?” 

“Fine.” 

If he’s going to lie, she isn’t going to keep trying. It’s a silent drive with him, after that. 

She parks in the ambulance bay outside the ER and turns the car off. “I’ll get Scott’s mom,” she says, opening her door. 

“No,” Isaac says sharply, and just the sound of his voice sends sympathetic fear through her, back of her throat down her spine to her gut. “Please, I mean,” he adds. 

“Please don’t get the nurse to save your life?” She turns to look at him. 

“Don’t leave me.” 

She frowns for a second. “You aren’t going to actually die.” 

“Didn’t say I was going to die.” 

“Y’know, if you want to bleed out on my back seat, you can. I won’t stop you.” 

Isaac doesn’t say anything back. He just looks at her. 

“You’re making it difficult to want to help you,” she says under her breath, and gets out of the car. Isaac watches her open his door. She sees that he has both hands holding the hoodie to his stomach, and he’s white as a sheet. 

“Not the first time I heard that,” he says. 

She helps him out of the car by the hand, and then is faced with a split-second conundrum: does she help him walk? Arm around the waist or not? Judging by his expression he’s thinking the same thing. Then he staggers, and the decision is kind of made for them. 

Arm around the waist. She has to support most of his weight, and he can’t even lift his feet without holding his breath against the pain. Bad, bad, very bad. He can’t even keep his head up. 

“Doing good,” she says. “Halfway there. Breathe through it or you’ll pass out.” 

“Right.” He takes short breaths, each one almost a whimper, and that’s not better. She can feel how tight his muscles are, how his shaking gets worse every step. “Should know better,” he says near the doors. 

That’s vague, but clarification isn’t exactly first priority. They’re inside, and she calls for help. Isaac tenses even more at that, and that’s another tidbit of information she logs. More importantly, though, he’s bleeding out. 

Melissa’s there, like Scott promised. She comes out with a rolling stretcher, and helps Allison get Isaac on it. “Wolf attack?” Melissa says with a knowing look. 

“Yeah. I think so, I wasn’t there. Scott said wolfsbane,” Allison remembers to add. 

Melissa’s eyes narrow a bit. “Okay. Then we’ve gotta work quick. You coming back with us?” 

Allison makes involuntary eye contact with Isaac. He won’t ask for help. She’s beginning to see he’ll never ask for her help. Isaac thinks like a loner, no allies. But she doesn’t have to be his friend to be his ally. 

“Just for a minute,” she says. 

Melissa pushes the stretcher down the hall. “Allison, help me get him a room. Isaac,” Melissa says. Her voice is quiet but firm. “How do you feel, do you feel hot?” She puts her hand over his forehead while he answers. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Melissa looks at Allison. “Do you know?” she asks. 

“About the wolves? Yeah.” 

“Then you’re gonna be my second set of hands. We have to cauterize so he doesn’t bleed out, get charcoal to draw the poison out and medication to keep his heart rate down and ice so his brain doesn’t melt.” They turn into a room and Melissa turns the brakes on with her foot, so the bed stops here.

Allison does well with orders. She nods once. “What do I do?” 

“Get his shirt off. I’ll be right back.” 

Allison’s never been one to beat around the bush. She cuts his shirt off with the knife still strapped to her thigh, and that gets a weak smile out of him. “Talk about irony,” he says. 

“I’d rather not.” She puts the knife back in the sheath.

Melissa comes back with a lot of things. She injects him with a couple of things first, and hangs a transfusion bag for him. Allison gets the ice packs and along with them, the privilege of keeping him cooled down. She has to replace them every five minutes. He’s almost literally burning up, pulse climbing every second, and she can feel her own racing with it.

She tries not to look at what else is happening to him, especially the cauterization. “It’ll heal,” Melissa says grimly. “We just have to keep him cool long enough for it to happen.” 

“Okay.” His flesh still sizzles, though. She still hears it. And maybe the next time she puts a new ice pack on his forehead, she moves his hair out of the way first. 

“Alright, sweetie,” Melissa says when she’s done. She squeezes Isaac’s hand, then pushes her hair back with her arm. “That’s it. Now we just have to wait.” 

Isaac doesn’t seem to be exactly conscious, which is probably for the best. Allison puts a new ice pack on his forehead and then wipes her hands on her pants and takes what feels like her first deep breath for a while. 

"Thanks for the help," Melissa says. “Where’s Scott, is he alright?” 

“He’s fine, I saw him about a half hour ago when I picked this guy up.” 

“Okay. Are you staying here?” 

Allison is kind of glad he’s not conscious to hear her hesitate. “Um, I can. For a little bit.” 

“This whole wolfsbane thing is kind of a hard recovery," Melissa says mildly, cleaning up everything. “And this boy’s been through enough as it is.” 

"What do you mean?”

Melissa looks down at Isaac and then out at the hallway, like she doesn't want anyone else to hear. “Well. Whichever one of them killed Coach Lahey a while ago, I wasn’t exactly sad to see him go. Stay with him, would you? I’ll be back.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

Allison replaces the ice pack after a few minutes. He’s still burning up, but his heart rate is slowing. He’ll be okay. She’s a little surprised to find that she’s actually happy about that. Scott will be happy too, that’s probably why. 

Isaac pries his eyes open at last and looks up at Allison, blinking several times. “You’re here,” he says suspiciously. 

“Yeah.” 

“No, you’re _still_ here.” 

Allison nods, fiddling with the handle of her knife. “Melissa asked me to stay.” 

He nods back, which feels somehow patronizing, then grimaces. “Ow.” 

“Yeah, you’re not healed yet.” Saying something like that makes her feel like she should pat his arm or something to comfort him. “Well, I’ve got some stuff to do,” she begins. 

“Sure.” Isaac’s too quick to agree. It makes her suspicious. 

“Do you want me to call someone for you, or something? Scott?” 

Isaac shakes his head. “No,” he says.

“Not… Derek, or another one of you guys-“ 

“No. Thanks.” He’s angry, maybe, or embarrassed. “Wouldn’t you kill him anyways? Derek. If he came here.” 

“Oh, yeah. I’d… yeah.” She actually wasn’t thinking that, which surprises her. 

Isaac shifts, and then winces, holding his stomach. “You… ow. You really hate us, don’t you?” he says.

“I wish it was that simple.”

He meets her eyes. His are a little glossed over, hazy. “It isn’t?” he asks. 

She doesn’t mean to answer him, but it feels out of her control. “No. It isn’t.” And then, because she needs to know, she asks, ”Do you want me to stay?” 

“Maybe.” 

“That’s not a question that maybe is an answer to.” 

“Sure it is.” That's as far as she can push; he looks her in the eye and doesn’t answer. He looks so tired. 

“I don’t hate you,” she tells him. “I don’t know you.” 

It’s not the best comfort, but it works. It relaxes him, and he looks around at the room. His eyes land on the knife on her leg. “What’s that for?” 

“Protection.” 

“From me?” 

“Not necessarily. You’re being talkative,” Allison adds. “For you.”

“Talkative for me doesn’t mean talkative. I’m not talking a lot.” 

“Before today, you’d said about a dozen words to me. And a lot of them were pretty hostile. Remember that?” 

Isaac shrugs. “Well.” 

“Well,” she imitates him when he doesn’t say anything else. 

“That’s not going to work. I’m not going to talk more.” He glances at her side in alarm then, and she sees she’s been picking at the grip of her knife. It’s probably coming off as threatening. “You want to get some answers?” he asks, when he notices her noticing.

“Answers about what?” He just shrugs. “Well, no. You don’t have the ones I’m looking for.” 

“Who does? Derek?” It’s Isaac pushing now, looking at her a little more sharply than she feels comfortable with. 

Maybe. That’s the real answer. But Isaac’s hair is still damp with sweat from how he almost died, and when he takes a deep breath he still winces. And she thinks about how scared he was to be left alone in the car. So she doesn’t let her press him into a fight. 

“I have stuff to do in a few hours,” she says, trying to sound like she knows what she’s talking about, “was what I was going to say. So. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep you company for a bit.” 

Isaac nods again. “Don’t want to go home?” he says, and the edge in his tone is back, sharper. 

“Not exactly. Dad’s still catatonic, so. Home’s tense.” She says it to shut him up, to let him know he’s being sarcastic about things he can’t possibly understand. But Isaac takes it more seriously than that. 

“Right. My fault,” he says, like that’s what she was expecting from him. 

“No, that wasn’t… it’s not your fault,” she says after a second. It’s the first time she’s actually thought that, but it’s true. Thinking anything else is just selfish. “You didn’t bite my mom. So.” 

“I didn’t,” he agrees. “But you definitely still stabbed me. Like twenty times. With knives.” 

“Right.” She busies herself with the edge of her sleeve. She’s not good at being wrong. “Sorry.” 

One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Wow. Is that an apology?” 

“Would you accept an apology?” 

He shrugs again. Allison doesn’t know what to do with that. She doesn’t want to push the issue, and she doesn’t care to share any more about how she feels. So she just stands there, sort of shrugs with her face back, one hand on her knife’s hilt and the other one in her pocket. “Are you hungry?” she asks eventually. Stiffly. Looking for something to do. “Scott always gets really hungry when he heals.”

Isaac, infuriatingly, shrugs. It’s beginning to seem like a pattern.

“Could get something from the cafeteria,” Allison suggests. 

“Well. They do have pretty good pizza.”

“Only because you almost died,” she says. So she gets them pizza. And she eats it sitting in a chair next to his bed, watching him heal. 

They talk a little. Basic visiting. What classes they’re in, and how lacrosse is going. Allison catches Isaac with almost a smile on his face when he doesn’t know she’s looking. It reminds her of Scott, the way he’s always just so pleased to be around people. Maybe that’s why Isaac’s hanging around with Scott, not Derek. She can’t imagine Derek caring about people at all. Mostly she imagines him bleeding, dying, sorry for what he’s done to her. But she tries not to go there right now. Can’t tell if it’s just projection or if Isaac actually looks at her every time she heads down that mental path, but either way. 

When Melissa clears him to leave, Allison’s still there. “Need a ride back?” she says, and not because politeness or guilt or anything against her will. She wants to give him a ride. He’s not bad. He’s cold and wry and defensive, but not that’s not bad. That’s what she is right now, too. 

“Sure,” Isaac says. “As long as shirts are optional in your car.” 

Allison rolls her eyes. That feels odd; she hasn’t been relaxed or kidding like this for a while. Since her mom died. And she would never have thought he’d be the one to do this. She thought it’d be Lydia, or Scott. Possibly Jackson, with his asshole sense of humor. Not the tall prickly werewolf she stabbed. “I will make a one-time shirt exception given the situation,” she says. “Where am I taking you, Scott’s?” 

That wipes the smile off his face. He follows her out into the hall scratching his disappearing scars. “Um,” he says. “No.” 

She clenches her jaw before saying, “Derek’s?” 

Isaac glances up at her tone, looks back down again quickly. “Not the house in the woods,” he says. “He’s got a place towards downtown. But. Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

“Why not Scott’s?” 

“Long story,” he says, which is technically an answer but also not one. And apparently now he can tell she’s annoyed without her speaking, because now, when he thinks she’s upset with him, he tries to fix it. “I mean. I have to get back there sometimes.”

“Shared custody situation.” 

“Pretty much.” Isaac gets the door for her, and she almost thanks him. “He won’t be there,” he adds. “You won’t have to… y’know. Decide if you’re going to fight him. Or actually fight him.” 

“No decision involved,” Allison says. “Does that bother you?” 

“I won’t stop you,” he says. It’s odd, the way he cedes authority at any point he can. She’s not sure what to think about it. 

When they get in the car it hits her all over again, in the context of this space, how tall he is. His bare shoulder is surprisingly close to her, and his legs still don’t quite fit in the front seat. He must’ve been tall before the bite. It’s funny, how she’s never felt intimidated by him. It’s something to think about.

“Well, tell me where to go,” she says. And then she has to devote a lot of energy to ignoring her gut instinct telling her this is a bad idea. He tenses as they get closer to the place, running his hands over his hair more often. He’s scared. She’s scared him, she should know what that looks like. 

Isaac doesn’t get out right away when they’re there. He links his hands in his lap. “Thanks,” he says. “For everything today.” 

“Sure, yeah.” 

“For not killing me,” he adds. 

She bites her lip. Her mom would say this was a stupid thing to say, but her gut is telling her this is the right move. “I’m not going to kill you,” she says. 

“I know. That was a joke.” 

He’s smiling when she looks over at him, and she makes a point of not smiling back. “Usually people don’t need to clarify jokes.” 

“Yeah,” is all he says, smile falling off his face. “Well thanks again.” 

“Sure.” 

They pause for a beat, but he doesn’t move. 

“You can get out,” she prompts. 

“Right. Bye.” He leaves then, walks into this building she’s already memorized just in case she wants to find the werewolf lair again. 

Several things occur to her on her drive back, she can feel them squirming around just beneath the surface. So she calls Lydia. “Hey,” Lydia says. “What’s up, babe?” 

“Do you have a second?”

“Yeah, my next fugue state isn’t until Tuesday,” Lydia says brightly. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, I’m just… I helped Scott with a thing today.”

“Okay. Because you’re still in love with him.” Lydia isn’t thrilled with this, it’s all over her voice. 

“Well, I’m… that’s not the point,” Allison says. “It’s just hard. To help them. After everything with my mom.” 

“Yeah.” Lydia sounds sympathetic, for her. “So you need help telling him to go to hell next time?” 

Allison smiles a little. “No, so I helped him, and I helped his mom save Isaac’s life, I guess. Which was… and I liked doing it, I like being able to help people. I’m good in a crisis. And I know my mom was wrong.” Her voice wavers on that. 

“Allison,” Lydia says. “I’m going to say a couple things I think you know but might need to hear, just in case, okay?” 

“Go for it.” 

“Okay. First, you don’t have to take care of anyone you don’t want to. Even though you’re good at it. Especially werewolves. And secondly, you can know your mom is wrong intellectually and still not emotionally feel great about it.” 

“Yeah,” Allison says, when Lydia pauses expectantly. “I know.”

“Have you talked to Scott about this? I know the two of you do that.” 

“No, it’s… we haven’t. I haven’t… no.” 

“Mmhmm.” Lydia sounds very satisfied.

“I probably would feel better,” Allison admits. “I just… it’s hard to bring up something when I don’t even have words for how, like. Why can’t he just read my mind like you can?” 

“He’s not smart enough,” Lydia says sympathetically, and Allison’s surprised into laughing. “That’s why you’ve got me, though.” 

Allison smiles at her phone again. She almost feels like she could cry. “Yeah,” she says. “Yes. And I’m so lucky to have you. What about you, are you… how’s the…” 

“The freaky memory loss and dreams of people dying?” Lydia asks brightly. 

“Yeah, has it started up again?” 

“Nope! Everything’s great. Summer of me. We’ll talk later, yeah?” 

“Okay. Bye.” Allison’s sure Lydia can hear her skepticism, but Lydia’s ignoring it. Weird. That’s something Allison will keep an eye on, she can’t let herself lose track of it with everything going on. Honestly, she needs the distraction from all of the werewolf stuff, too, since the werewolf stuff is tied with her mom stuff and her family stuff in general. 

Something Lydia said, though. It shook something loose, something she was having a hard time articulating, so it’s closer to the surface. 

So there’s something there, in the way Isaac has some kind of instinctual connection to the way she thinks. He can’t read her mind necessarily, buthe hasn’t been that wrong. So it’s that, but it’s also everything around that because no normal person should be able to understand her like this. Why does he understand her hyper vigilance? He’s only been a werewolf for a few months. 

It would worry her, if she cared more. She doesn’t, though. So she just makes a pointed reevaluation. He’s not her enemy. If she runs into him again, she won’t mind. 

So, next week when she sees him at school, she’s pleasant. Neutral, when she has the opportunity to be. “Oh, look who it is,” Stiles says, as he and Scott arrive at her locker. “My replacement. Yeah, why even keep me in the loop?” That’s directed more at Scott. 

“I couldn’t just wait,” Scott says defensively. “He was dying.” 

Stiles throws his arms up. “So you call the person who swore a blood oath to kill him. That makes sense.” 

Allison looks at Stiles. His mom died too. She wonders if his grief felt quite so much like a hole in the middle of his chest, or if it was different because he was young. And then she thinks, it’s probably a lot easier to be annoying than try to ever be serious when serious is an open wound, so sensitive to the touch. 

“Not a blood oath,” she says, and it takes both of them a second to realize she’s joking. “Just a normal oath.” 

Stiles looks deep in her eyes, his face serious for a fraction of a second before he nods contemptuously. “And she jokes now, too? Seriously, Scott, I don’t pick up my phone for three minutes, because I just so happen to be talking to the girl of my dreams-” 

“Yeah, but you talk to Lydia all the time,” Scott says, with the cute little smile he gets when he actually manages to tease Stiles. “The real question is, was she talking back?” 

“No,” Allison predicts, and Stiles sighs and falls against the lockers. 

“She said a few… words… that were possibly more like sounds.” 

If they were still dating, Scott would take her hand now, or put his hand on her back. She almost wishes he would anyways. “Sounds,” Scott repeats. “Yeah, real promising.”

They keep going on about that, but Allison stops paying attention when she sees Isaac coming down the hall. She watches him look at Scott before he changes course to come towards them, follows Isaac’s gaze and sees Scott check her face before he answers. It’s subtle, the body language he uses that tells Isaac he can come over to them. It’d be easy to miss, if she didn’t see the whole exchange. 

“Oh here he is,” Stiles says, gesturing wildly. “The guy that had to almost die when I was busy, couldn’t wait for a few minutes.” 

Isaac leans against the lockers on Allison’s other side. “Take it up with the hunters,” he says, and then looks at Scott and shuts his mouth.

“We don’t know they were hunters,” Scott says quickly. 

Oh. So they’re treating her like she’s a basket case. “It’s okay,” Allison says to all of them, including Stiles who is uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m not going to fall apart if you mention…” God, how to finish that sentence. 

“Fall apart, no,” Isaac says. “Stab me again, maybe.” 

“Yeah, what a loss that would be,” Stiles says sarcastically. “Whatever would we do without you.” 

Scott sighs, very annoyed, but he’s sort of smiling at all of them. “No one’s replacing anybody,” he says. “Next time, pick up. Can I copy your worksheet?” he asks Isaac, and leads Isaac away towards their next class. That leaves Stiles standing next to Allison’s locker, watching them go with obvious annoyance.

“No sense of personal space,” Stiles mumbles. “Is that like a werewolf thing?” 

Allison doesn’t answer, but it’s mostly an accident. She’s watching Scott and Isaac too, the way they overlap as they walk down the hall, Isaac shaping himself around Scott’s space. It’s familiar, it’s close. It makes her wonder what else she’s missed. 

“Hey,” Stiles says. “Are you okay?” She snaps back in to find him looking at her, worried. Unexpectedly sincere. 

“I’m fine,” she says. 

“You sure? Lydia’s had a lot of time to let me bother her recently, are you like, talking to people and getting out of the house and not falling back into the cult that your family… used to… run,” he finishes more slowly, as they make eye contact and he realizes what he’s saying. “Never mind,” he adds brightly. “None of my business. Right.“

“I’m trying,” Allison answers. 

And Stiles screws up his mouth, gives her an awkward sort of pat on the shoulder. Then the bell rings, and he startles, limbs going everywhere and ultimately towards his class, and Allison goes too. 

Scott’s been keeping her and Isaac apart. It seems logical, like a Scott thing to do. She wonders if it was for her or for Isaac. If she asks, she knows he’ll say it was for both. But asking would mean acknowledging that she can’t stand his whole species right now, and she’s not brave enough to tell him that because she’d have to explain how she still loves him just as much as ever. And that’s terrifying to think about, let alone say out loud.

Instead of any of that, for a few weeks Allison does a decent job of pretending she’s okay. It convinces almost everyone. It even almost convinces herself. 

Then she finds her dad crying on a Monday morning. He doesn’t see her. He has his face in Mom’s hand towel. She backs out as quickly as she can, and leaves for school early. 

Parking’s kind of hard while she’s also wiping tears off her face, but she’s up for the challenge. That’s another lesson from her mom. No time for sentimentality. 

“Hey Allison!” Scott calls. 

She wishes she could stop her stomach from twisting at the sight of him. “Hi,” she says. “How’s it going?” 

He sees her, visibly decides to play it cool. “Fine, I guess. How are you?” 

She wipes her face off again, wipes it finally dry. “I’m good,” she says. “Lydia and I saw that um. A movie this weekend.” It’s true, but it feels like a lie. Like going undercover as a person who cares about movies and whose mother isn’t dead. 

“Awesome, was it any good?” Scott asks, playing along. 

“It was fine.” She should say more, about the plot or a character or something but her vision’s gone blurry again and she doesn’t remember.

Lydia comes over around then. She provides all the details and normal conversation stuff, and Allison focuses on keeping it together. It’s a work in progress. She gets lunch detention for mouthing off to a teacher before she manages to get herself under control. So that’s great. At least she isn’t hungry. 

The last person she expects to see in detention is Isaac. The weeks of civility have changed their dynamic; he almost smiles when he sees her. His eyes get warmer, at least, and that’s enough for her to sit next to him, albeit with some distance between them. “What’d you do?” he asks. 

“Bad day. Long story.” 

Isaac can be counted on to take a terse answer for what it is. He nods, looks away. She thinks he can tell she’s been crying again. She’s never been a good crier. So it’s awkward. 

Probably because it’s so awkward, Mr. Harris assigns the two of them to restock the janitor’s closet. Isaac doesn’t protest. His eyes are fixed on the table. He doesn’t like Mr. Harris, she can feel it, which shouldn’t exactly be a surprise. Nobody likes him. But Allison finds herself sort of caring what Isaac thinks. Or, at least, she tries to tell what exactly he’s thinking. Isaac wants to ask why her day was bad, probably. Or maybe not, maybe he doesn’t want to ask and he’s trying to see if she’ll hurt him or not. She can’t tell. Werewolves are hard to read. That causes a moment of panic. But Isaac won’t kill her in the janitor’s closet. And if he tries, she has a knife on her ankle, just under the cuff of her jeans. She could press him against the wall and slit his throat, flip him and jam it in his spine, pin his wrist to the door. 

He knocks his hand against her arm briefly. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

They’re supposed to be filling their arms from the cart to stock the shelves. Allison stops her thoughts and starts doing that. “Yep,” she says. “Great.” 

Isaac glances at the walls and then the door of the closet once they’re in there, like he’s reassuring himself they’re all still there. She catches him mid-shudder, and asks “Are you?” as she stacks paper towels on a shelf. 

“Yeah, I’m just… not a huge fan of small spaces.” He sounds casual, but that’s pretty blatantly fake. He’s as tense as she's ever seen him. 

“What, claustrophobia?” 

“Something like that.” 

She thinks she’s worried. Or she should be. She wants to be, more than anything, because being worried is different than being what she is now. How she feels. 

“You should've said something to Harris,” she says. 

“Nah, he would’ve just made me do it anyways. He doesn’t like me,” Isaac says, and there’s some weight to that Allison can’t place. Something about Mr. Harris or something. She isn’t sure. And before she can get sure, the door shuts with a crash and Isaac instantly panics.

He runs the few steps there and slams himself into the door, trying the handle about a dozen times in a row. “No no no,” he mumbles, pushing against the door. 

“Hey, it’s probably just locked from the outside," she says. 

“No, there's something up against it.” He keeps trying the door, panicking, repeating words to himself so quickly it sounds like nonsense syllables. It's dark, she can't see his face, but she doesn't need to to know how scared he is.

“Isaac,” she says, and joins him near the door. “Isaac. Calm down, it's okay.” 

He strips off his sweater and slams both his hands against the wood. Any harder and he’ll break skin. So she slips her foot between him and the door and hip-checks him to get him off balance. Then she tosses him back into the wall, turning to hold him there with a hand on his shoulder. “ _Isaac_!” she barks, and he shivers again, his eyes going gold. “Don’t. Don't change. We're okay.” 

Her calmness seems to be rubbing off on him. “Can't breathe,” he chokes out, but he doesn't repeat it or anything else. So she stays calm.

“Sit down. Head between your legs.” 

He obeys her, but she can see his features warping as he loses control. He wraps his arms around himself, his nails sharp and long where they dig into his arms. She kneels down in front of him and puts her hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay,” she says. “Can you breathe now?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Can I help?” 

“Don't go.” 

She can’t. But that's not the point. “Okay.”

“I think I’m having a panic attack,” he says in a very quiet, calm voice. 

“Okay. Okay. What should I do about that?” 

He shivers again, but in a way that feels more like a release than further panic. “Dunno.” He takes her hand, squeezes it tight, and forces himself to take a deep breath. She breathes with him, and tries to think if she’s ever known what to do for a panic attack besides deny it’s happening. Not really. But she doesn't want him to change into a werewolf while they're in here. Everything else is secondary. So she sits back on her feet, scoots closer, and puts her other hand around his. “It's okay,” she says. "We're going to get out of here, and then we're going to talk about this.” 

“Okay.” 

They sit there in the dark, breathing together. It's only a couple of minutes before Scott moves the barricade and opens the door. She pushes Isaac towards the door before she thinks. 

It was a vending machine, against the door. Isaac sits against it, breathing deeply, and Allison lets Scott pull her to her feet. “The twins did this,” Scott says grimly. 

Allison doesn’t care who did it, she wants their blood. “Where are they now?” she asks. 

“Gone, probably," Scott says. “Isaac, you okay?" 

“Fine," he says. Allison can’t be the only one who knows that's a lie. 

“Mister McCall.” Mr. Harris is walking towards them. “What are you doing?" 

“Helping, somebody trapped them in-“

“Would you like detention?” 

“No, but-” 

“Walk away, Mister McCall.” 

Scott glances at Allison and Isaac, clearly so torn. Allison gives him a look that means go, though. They don’t all need to be in trouble. So, reluctantly, Scott goes. 

“Back to work,” Mr. Harris says once Scott turns the corner. 

“I can’t,” Isaac says to Allison. 

Mr. Harris hears him. “I’m sorry? You _can’t_ restock this closet? It’s too hard for you?” 

Isaac shrinks at the mockery. “No, I can’t,” he says in a smaller voice.

“I’ll do it,” Allison says. “It’s fine. Isaac can do something else. What’s wrong with that?” 

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Harris begins. 

Allison isn’t in the mood for this. She’s had a terrible day, and Isaac is six seconds away from another panic attack. So she snaps. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that. You’ve been on a power trip this whole detention. Stop lording it up over a group of teenagers.” 

Mr. Harris takes a step towards her, a threatening one, and Isaac pushes himself to his feet in front of her. “Excuse me?” Mr. Harris says.

“She didn’t mean that,” Isaac says. 

Allison moves out from behind him, keeps him out of the way with her hand on his arm. “No,” she says. “I did. It’s ridiculous how much I meant that.” 

“Get to the office. Now.” Harris leads the way.

Allison talks to Isaac before she follows. “I’ll see you later today, go get lunch or whatever. It’s fine. Really.” And it is. She gets a week of detention, and frankly she doesn’t care.

Isaac’s lurking by her locker after school. “Hey,” he says when he sees her. 

“Hey.” 

“Are you… what happened?” he changes his question. 

“A week of detention after school, starting today. I’m fine, really. No need for you to get all… alpha male, or whatever.” She wrinkles her nose at the pun. 

Isaac pulls up one corner of his mouth in a bit of a smile. “Okay.” He watches her zip her bag up and then shut her locker. “You didn’t have to do that, though.” 

She meets his eyes. “I am aware.” She’s glad she did it. The way he looks at her feels a lot like appreciation, and that’s worth it. “You’re welcome,” she adds.

“Would you, um. Don’t tell anybody, about. The claustrophobia.”

“Does Scott know?” 

Isaac shrugs and kinda shakes his head. “I don’t really… tell people.” 

“Right. Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you later.” 

“Okay.” 

She sees him a lot sooner than she thought she would. When she gets out of detention, he's waiting there, sitting there on the floor. He hops up as she walks out. 

“You didn't have to stay,” Allison says. 

“I’m aware.” He’s giving her a small smirk when she looks over at him, and she smiles back after a second. “I would be here for cross-country anyways,” he adds. 

Right. cross-country. His hair is damp from showering after they ran, she should’ve put that together. “Well. Thanks.” 

Isaac walks with her outside and then asks, “Um. So. Are you stopping by Scott’s?" 

“I am now, I guess.” 

He grins for real then, and he walks close enough to her that she could touch him. “Bad day, huh?” he asks, vaguely enough for her to not answer if she wanted to. It’s odd, but it seems like he asks that way on purpose, like maybe he thinks the way she does. She finds herself answering. 

“Yeah. Dad’s not taking it well. So.” 

Isaac doesn’t say anything until they're both in the car. “Neither did my dad,” he finally says.

“When did…” 

“About ten years ago.” He puts his feet awkwardly up on her dashboard. It's even more of a cramped position for him, but he looks proud of himself. 

“Feet down.”

“Or else what?” he says as he obeys. 

“What happened to being scared of me?” she says. “You know I’m carrying a knife, right?” 

“Yeah,” he says. 

But she talked him through a panic attack. She drives him places and stands up for him. They have an understanding that she won’t stab him. And it occurs to her; this is probably friendship. Friendship with someone who knows who she is. 

It feels good.

“You could come in,” Isaac says when they’re in the driveway. “If you want.” 

“I don’t know.” 

He pulls his backpack in his lap and looks out the windshield. “You should.” 

She hesitates. “Well. Maybe just for a second.” 

"What, because you really want to go home?” 

He has a point, and they both know it. She shoves his shoulder anyways. “Fine,” she says. “Two seconds.” 

She follows him in, solidly not noticing that he keeps glancing back at her to make sure she’s actually coming. “Hey,” he calls when they're inside. 

“Hi,” Scott calls back from his bedroom. “I’ll come there in a second.” 

“Okay.” Isaac flops down over one whole couch in the family room like last time, but he looks at her after, checking what she thinks. Allison just sits down on the other couch, by the arm closer to him. “What do you want to watch?” he asks her, exceedingly casual. 

“Whatever, I don’t care. I won’t be here long.” She puts her feet up on the coffee table, and checks her phone.

She has several texts from Lydia, all in a row. 

_Stiles told me about today. Screw Harris fr. But also…_

_You do not have to help them!_

_You have enough to worry about!! Like studying for o chem_

Allison sighs, and types out her response after a second. _I know I don’t have to. I’m choosing to. They’re trying to be good, I think_

Lydia answers right away. _Didn’t ask! :)_ And then immediately she follows up with another. _Wait. Don’t tell me you’re at Scott’s again_

Point made. Allison huffs a laugh out her nose and sends back, _I am!! Plz I know what I’m doing. Maybe this is my summer of me just in September ok_

_SO not the same thing lol_ , Lydia answers. _But fine hint taken I’ll move into the supportive section of the night. Glad you’re out of the house babe <3_

_Me too :) we need a girls night soon too,_ Allison sends. Then she glances back over at Isaac just to see what he’s doing. He meets her eyes right away. Still jumpy from earlier. 

Scott comes out then. “Allison, what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding nothing but pleased. 

“Just stopping by.” 

He sits down next to her, goes to put his arm around her and then stops himself. Instead he hugs a pillow. “Okay. Wanna stay? I’m making dinner this time, I promise I won't make you cook again. And it’s pot roast.” 

Her favorite. It takes a solid four hours, which means he had a hunch she’d be over. It’s never hard to remember why she loved Scott. He knows parts of her so well, loves her so wholly. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll stay.” 

Scott grins. “You were pretty awesome today. Tamed a werewolf and yelled at a teacher.” 

“Yeah. Thanks. Felt good to get all that aggression out,” Allison says, looking at Isaac just in time to see him snort. 

“How’s your dad?” 

Allison glances at him. “How do you think?” 

“Right. Sorry.” Scott scoots closer to lean in, going for a hug after all, and she doesn't stop him. It feels nice. She's missed him. She could be sitting right next to him and miss him. 

“So what’s up with these twins?” she asks him, can’t hold out any longer. 

Isaac tips his whole head towards them, eyes on Allison. “What’s it to you?” he asks shrewdly. 

“Nothing,” Allison says. 

It’s a lie. One Isaac catches, too, and gives her a sort of smirk that Scott watches with interest. “Wait, what about the twins?” he asks. "What did that look mean?” 

“Nothing,” Allison says. 

Scott freezes Isaac with a firm gaze. “Isaac?” he prompts. 

“Her heartbeat,” Isaac mumbles. “She’s lying.” He seems to be embarrassed, his cheeks pink, and Allison wonders how much power over him Scott actually has. He didn't want to tell Scott, but he did it anyways. She doesn’t like that. It feels like what her family did; interrogation. Even if Scott is kind about it.

Scott frowns at her, and Allison decides to come clean. Just to take some of the heat off Isaac, at least. “It’s messed up,” she says. “You should do something about it. You’re a werewolf, aren’t you supposed to understand loyalty?” 

Scott’s frown deepens. “I do.” 

“So you're letting some assholes mess with him because you think it’s funny?” 

“No. I’m not his alpha, I can’t-“

“Oh. So will Derek handle them?” she says. She can feel her blood rushing. 

“Probably not,” Scott says hesitantly, looking at Isaac. Allison looks at him too, and she remembers in that second everything she's learned about Isaac. He hates this, he looks so uneasy. “He’s got a lot on his plate,” Scott continues. “He says there’s a new pack coming, and stuff.” 

“Oh,” Allison forces out.

Scott knows she isn’t really letting it go, he’s not stupid. “I’m gonna check on the pot roast,” he says, and escapes to the kitchen. 

Allison wants to ask Isaac what he thinks. She wants to see if he understands what she meant, if he’ll pick a side. Before she can figure out how to ask, he puts his shoes on. “I’m gonna go.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah.” He looks up at her, guilt written on his face. “Sorry. Bye, Scott,” he adds, and practically bolts for the front door. 

“Bye,” Scott answers. The front door shutting cuts him off. He looks across the room at Allison. “What just happened?” 

“He hates arguments,” Allison says, standing to join him. 

“What?” 

“Scott, you can't tell me you don't know. Someone hurt that guy.” 

He’s not surprised, he knows about it. “Well. Okay, but why did he leave?” 

“Um, because you made him tell you something that we just fought over. And probably because you apparently don't think he’s worth defending.” Allison crosses her arms and leans against the fridge. 

“I don’t think he’s worth starting a pack war over, no," Scott says, his frown deepening. “There’s a better way.” 

“He said they’re targeting him, and you're just going to let that happen?” 

“No. I’m going to figure out who they are and what's going on, and then I’m going to make them pay, but I'm going to do it without making everyone want to kill me.” Scott closes the crock pot and looks at her. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because my mom’s dead, Scott,” she says, finally. “And I’m friends with werewolves. Who don’t want to talk about it.” 

Scott nods, and then he hugs her. He smells like cotton and deodorant and as always, he feels just like home. “I thought it wasn’t really my place, to say anything.”

“Okay. Maybe you could do that without making it seem like you don’t want to talk about it. The worst thing that’s ever happened to me," she mumbles into his shoulder. 

“I’ll definitely do that,” he says. “Sorry. We can talk about it.” 

“It’s okay. It's just.”

Scott tightens his arms around her shoulders. She doesn’t know if it should feel so good, to be pinned between a fridge and her ex-boyfriend, but she wants to stay here forever, maybe. Scott doesn’t even try to kiss her. He gets it. 

“You shouldn’t have made him tell you,” Allison finally says. 

“I didn’t know it was gonna be a big deal. I’ll totally apologize next time I see him, and I want him to feel safe,” he says firmly, with the sense of duty and rightness that he's always had. “We’ll defend him.”

“Good. Somebody needs to.” It’s so much easier to sound calm when she knows she’s being listened to. “Derek isn’t doing shit.”

"Did he tell you about Derek?” 

“No, but.” She doesn’t need to be told about Derek. 

Scott makes a face. “Well. It’s more complicated. Derek thinks he’s helping.”

“Maybe, but it’s not good enough.” 

“Okay. I hear you.” Scott looks at her for a moment and then hugs her again. “I miss you,” he says into her hair.

Allison swallows back tears. She’s not even sad. It’s just that it will never be as easy as it used to be, with Scott. “Yeah, I know. Me too. We’ll be okay. I just…” 

Scott meets her eyes, and all she sees in his is understanding. “Hey. It’s okay. Today’s just homework.” 

It’s homework and cuddling, actually. Allison ends up sitting against the arm of the couch with her feet tucked under Scott’s leg and Scott’s arm resting over her legs. He’s warm, and he looks at her with love in his eyes, still. Give it time, she thinks at him. Just some time. 

His mom gets home around dinner time, and they eat together in the family room, watching Jeopardy and guessing the answers. It’s better than her house. She puts her head on Scott’s shoulder and doesn’t worry about the politics of it, for the moment. 

Somehow it gets to ten o’clock, and Scott asks, “You want to stay the night? You can have the couch.” 

“Okay. You going to bed?”

“I’m actually gonna go skype Stiles, he’s got a werewolf theory he wants to talk about.” He hesitates. “Do you want to… join?” 

“No. No, I’m tired, I’m just going to sleep now, I think.” 

“Okay.” Scott squeezes her shoulder and then sits up. “I’ll bring you a blanket and pillows. You want pajamas?” 

“That’d be nice, thanks.” 

So she calls her dad, has a robotic conversation with him about staying the night and ultimately curls up to sleep on Scott’s couch in his pajama pants. It’s probably good she stopped trying to deny that she still loves him. It aches when she thinks of her mom, but it’ll ache either way. At least this way she has Scott. 

Lydia texted back, Allison sees when she finally checks her phone again when she sets her alarms for the morning. _Girls night fs. Manicures and target practice._

_Love that you can read my mind :)_ Allison answers. 

Then she holds her phone against her chest, stares at the ceiling, and tries not to think. She’s just sleeping on her ex-boyfriend’s couch. It’s not a big deal. 

Every day she has detention for the next week, Isaac waits outside for her. It’s something she tries not to think about too much, mostly because it’s another thing that’s not a big deal. Isaac would be here anyways for cross-country. He’s only staying an extra couple of minutes, and he’s just feeling guilty, that doesn’t mean anything. He _should_ feel bad, too, it’s his fault she’s in here. 

“This sucks,” she says on the third day. 

“It won’t happen again,” Isaac promises. 

And then Allison surprises herself, with the way she answers. “It’s alright,” she says. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” And means it. Though after, she thinks about when her mom told her how if she stayed strong they wouldn’t have to kill Scott. She doesn’t have to wonder what Mom would say about Isaac. Her stomach twists. 

Isaac glances at her. Her heartbeat is probably going haywire. “Need a ride?” she asks, a distraction, and he nods. 

They go to Scott’s a couple of the days, hang out for a few hours until Allison can’t justify avoiding home any longer. Sometimes Stiles comes, and the four of them work on stuff. She always leaves first. Doesn’t spend the night after that first one. The other half of the time, Isaac walks her to her car and then leaves with Boyd and Erica to go to Derek’s. 

That’s fine. It’s fine. She isn’t even thinking about it. Isaac is incidental at best, he’s not the reason she’s going to Scott’s. She’s going to Scott’s for Scott, because despite everything, her best instincts and Lydia’s advice, Allison can’t stop herself from loving him exactly as much as she always has. It’s easy to love him. He smiles when he sees her, and listens, and now that she asked him to, he’ll talk about her family too. 

Like now. It’s Saturday, she’s curled up next to him on his bed, finally studying for O Chem while he naps. Cross-country and whatever’s been going on with the werewolves has him exhausted. Melissa stops in the door on her way to work, making a face when she sees them. She thinks they’re cute. 

“Dinner’s in the fridge, just heat it up,” Melissa says, quietly so she doesn’t wake Scott up. “There’s plenty if you want to stay.” 

“Thanks, I’ll tell him.” 

Melissa nods, hesitance in her face, and Allison dreads whatever it is she’s about to say. “Your mom,” Melissa says, and Allison’s heart sinks. “Was it connected to all of this… wolf stuff?” 

Allison just nods back. She doesn’t trust her voice. 

“Are you,” Melissa starts, and then seems to have to search for the words. “Was she killed?” she asks. 

That catches Allison off guard. “Um,” she says. “Well, it’s complicated.” 

“Okay. But my son hasn’t…” 

“Oh,” Allison says immediately, once she fills in that blank. “No. No, he wasn’t involved.” Except for when she almost killed him anyways. “He’s good.”

“Good. Just checking. I have no idea how long you ground someone for that.” Melissa flashes a nervous smile. “I’ll see you around,” she adds, and headed down the stairs. 

That sounds like a joke. Allison has trouble with that, though, because it just doesn’t feel like one. Her mom didn’t joke like that, maybe, is the thing. Mom would’ve been really happy, if Allison had killed Scott. Protecting Scott was something Allison had to make up for. 

Next to her, Scott stirs, stretches his arms around her waist to squeeze her tight. It makes her aware off how quickly she’s breathing, all of a sudden. 

“Allison?” Scott asks sleepily. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” 

She frowns at him. “Why?” 

“You smell, like… scared.” 

“Oh.” Allison thinks _therapy dog_ before she can stop herself. She takes a conscious deep breath. There’s no kind way to say that. There’s no way to tell him, either, that it makes her think about how having him in her life means discovering new things about werewolves. Things her family probably would weaponize, if they could. 

Scott looks up at her. “Hey,” he says. “Really.” 

“I’m… just sort of…” Allison begins, and stops. Scott sits up to look at her then, paying full attention. “I think I don’t know what a mom is supposed to be,” she finally manages to say. “My mom was never… I think you probably had a more normal experience.” 

He smiles a little, at her. “Like with my mom?” 

“Well, with zero parents in a probably racist murder cult, is more what I meant,” she answers, and somehow she feels like laughing now. Scott huffs out a laugh too. “But yeah. Your mom is great.” 

“She is. And your dad is…” 

Allison has to make a face about that, screwing up her mouth into a tight not-really smile. “He’s better, now,” she says. “But even him, he was all about it before. Like, I’m glad killing teenagers was his line in the sand, but.” 

“Right,” Scott says, unusually solemn. “There’s a lot before that.” 

“Yeah. Exactly.” 

Scott presses his cheek against her shoulder. He’s as warm as ever, a human heating pad soothing her muscles. “Is it hard to be around us?” he asks. 

“Not harder than it is to be anywhere else,” she says. 

It shouldn’t be so surprising that Scott gets it, but it is. He nods, rubs her arm. “I…” he hesitates. If she has to guess, he’s about to tell her he loves her, but they both know that already. 

“Do you mind if I stay for dinner?” she asks. 

“No, totally. Stay for dinner and forever, if you want.” 

And she loves him too, so she stays. They eat standing in the kitchen, and then end up on the couch watching a movie together. Ten minutes in, they’re definitely holding hands but Scott is also asleep. So as far as their relationship goes, Allison thinks it’s basically a wash. 

The house is dark, rain tapping against the windows, so Allison’s nodding off too when she’s startled awake by a loud sound. Instantly, she grabs the knife from her ankle before she’s thinking and then she sees the tall silhouette opening the door. Sees and actually processes the shape, and the person. It’s Isaac, dripping wet. He shuts the door behind himself, locks it, and then just stands there, a pool of water gathering around his feet. 

“Hey,” Allison says, willing her heart to slow down. He doesn’t say anything. “What’s going on?” She slips the knife back into its holster, glances at Scott who appears to somehow still be asleep. 

“Um,” Isaac says. He has a bag over his shoulder. He looks between the two of them, and then back outside like he’s thinking about going. 

Allison gets up and leaves him there for a second, pulls a couple of beach towels out of the front closet for him. With her arms full, she heads back. Isaac hasn’t moved. “Are you okay? What happened?” Allison asks, and unfolds one of the towels to toss over his shoulders. 

That gets him moving. He sets down his bag and draws the towel tighter around his shoulders. “I’m sorry to break up, the… thing you guys have, here,” Isaac says, in a pale imitation of his usual snark. 

“There’s no thing,” Allison says. “Sit down.” 

She guides him to the other couch, the one without Scott, and sits first since he seems to need some prompting. Isaac settles down next to her heavily, and drops his head in his hands. 

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks with a little humor, and throws another towel over his head. Clearly, he does not.

He pretends to be cool about it, he snorts and towels off his hair, but Allison notices several things. Like how his breathing is quick and shallow, maybe approaching a panic attack again. Plus he’s shivering from the rain he walked through to get here. She leans into him, her shoulder against his. He feels frozen through. 

“Isaac,” she says. “Tell me what happened, please. I’m…” She hesitates, her mother on her mind, but that’s stupid. Her mom’s dead, because she killed herself, and Allison is still here. “I’m on your side,” she says, and means it. 

He doesn’t talk. He does lean into her too, though, and when she moves to make him comfortable she ends up holding him, arm over his shoulders. Almost immediately water soaks through the towel and her sleeve, making her arm cold. “Derek kicked me out,” he finally says, voice cracking. 

“Okay…” she says slowly. That’s not the full story. “Permanently?”

“I don’t know. I think so.” 

Werewolves don’t do that to members of their pack. Allison knows that as a fact, a constant. A tactical concern: it’s never worth it to try and turn them against each other. If an alpha throws someone out, it’s serious, and usually the hunters take that as permission to kill the new lone wolf. 

It means something, probably, that she isn’t even entertaining killing Isaac for a second. But, she thinks, what it mostly means is that he wasn’t really ever Derek’s in her mind, not in any meaningful way. He was always Scott’s to her, pack dynamics be damned.

“What happened?” she asks again, with different intonation, hoping to evoke a different answer. 

“Nothing,” Isaac says. 

“It’s not nothing if he kicked you out over it.” 

“It _was_ nothing, though, I was just there, and.” He cuts himself off, shrugs her arm off to dry his hair and face. “He threw shit at me, and made me leave. I don’t know. It’s fine.” 

This is the moment, she discovers, that he’s not someone she’s just neutral on. If she was anything approaching just neutral, she’d just nod. Maybe wake Scott up for Scott to take care of him. But Allison doesn’t do that. Her heart ignites, a flare of anger that feels almost like arson. Someone drenched her ribcage in gasoline and dropped a match on it. Isaac can hear it; he looks over at her, checking her heartbeat and then expression. “That’s not fine,” she says, as calm as she can. 

“Sure it is,” Isaac says, with a shrug that turns into a shiver she can feel through the couch. 

“Why, because he’s your alpha?” Allison says, nose wrinkled at the word. 

“No, because…” He hesitates, looks at her with something in his eyes that seems like he’s realizing something new. “People do that,” he says anyways. There’s something brave about that, how he talks even though he knows he might be wrong.

Allison raises her eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?” 

“Don’t get like that, okay,” he sighs, and takes another towel from her gently. Scott seems unaware, sometimes, of how strong he is. Isaac never does. 

“Like what?” Allison asks. 

“Like that’s so crazy.” 

Allison leveled a look at him. “Who else has thrown things at you, Isaac?” she asks pointedly. “What does that list look like?” 

“My dad, for one,” he says sharply, and then at her expression adds, “Stop.” 

“Does Derek know?” 

“Know what?” 

“Does he know your dad did that?” 

Isaac doesn’t think that’s relevant, but his defensiveness, the way he’s resisting answering makes her think the answer is yes. “It’s not like it’s a secret,” he says. “Figured Jackson probably told everybody by now.” 

“No, but does Derek-”

“Yeah,” Isaac answers shortly. “He does. So what?” 

It only takes raising her voice the most minuscule amount. “Scott,” she says with intention, and Scott blinks his eyes opens. 

“Yeah?” he says, and then his brain catches up. “Oh. Hey Isaac.”

“Tell him,” Allison says to Isaac. 

He shifts and his weight tips them into each other, his leg touching hers. She can feel him trembling under Scott’s eyes. “Tell him what?” Isaac says, like she should’ve guessed he would. 

“Derek made Isaac leave tonight,” Allison says for him. Isaac is acting very put upon, but all his sighing just puts him closer to her, his shoulder crashing into hers with a jarring bump. “He kicked him out, Scott. You can’t tell me alphas are meant to do that.” 

“Did he really?” Scott says. 

Isaac is loathe to answer. He hides his face while he towels his hair off again until it’s mostly dry, the curls fluffy and defined. “I mean…” he says then, when Scott’s still obviously waiting. “It’s probably my fault, with everything with the twins. He can’t have that kind of stuff happening in his pack. It’s fine.” 

“You know he’s lying,” Allison says to Scott. “Come on.” 

“I’m not lying, it’s just not a big deal,” Isaac counters, his voice high. Allison doesn’t need to be a werewolf to tell he’s on the verge of panicking again. 

Right. She should know better than to do this - don’t make Isaac feel like he’s being thrown under the bus, it’s not the way to make him give in. Allison puts a hand on his knee, the denim soaking wet and freezing. “Not lying,” she corrects herself. “But it is a big deal.” And that has its intended effect, it makes him settle and fall silent again. He doesn’t correct her. 

“Did he mean it?” Scott asks, scooting closer on the couch. Then he thinks better of it and actually comes to sit on the coffee table across from them. One of his knees is between Isaac’s, the other bumps Allison’s leg. “Like, really?” 

“I think so, he packed all my stuff,” Isaac answers. Nonchalance isn’t coming easy to him tonight. “But I’m sure he didn’t mean to-”

“To scare you into listening?” Allison can’t help herself from asking.

Isaac hates this. He doesn’t answer, really. Just makes a face and goes to dig a hand in his eye. 

Scott reaches out, wraps his fingers around Isaac’s wrist to stop him. Then he makes eye contact with Allison. “You can stay here as long as you’d want, first of all,” he says to Isaac, then to Allison, “We can’t kill Derek.” 

“You can’t,” she says. “I can do whatever I want.” 

“Allison.” Scott disapproves. She doesn’t need his approval, though. She’ll do it regardless. Already, she’s thinking about the quickest way to get to her crossbow. “He did it on purpose?” Scott clarifies after a second, looking over at Isaac. 

“Yeah.”

Scott takes his hand off Isaac to run a hand through his hair; Isaac, who hasn’t moved while Scott held onto him, pulls the towel more tightly around himself. Scott looks at Allison sidelong. “You can’t _kill_ him,” he says with specific intonation this time. “I need him.”

“Fine,” Allison decides to say, before she knows if she means it. 

“I’m not agreeing with you,” Scott adds. “I still don’t think this is right. But we’ll talk about it. As a group.”

As a pack, Allison wants to suggest. Scott’s more on Isaac’s team than Derek ever was. But she’s choosing her battles tonight. 

“Isaac, you should change,” Scott points out, “you’re soaking wet.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Isaac hops up quickly, goes back over to the bag he left by the door. “Sorry,” he says again. 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay.”

Isaac nods but doesn’t seem to believe it - and who could blame him, after the night he’s had. She’s watching him, keeping an eye on him until the moment he strips right there, only partially obscured by the couch. Then she looks away, quickly, before she gets caught. Werewolf boundaries, Allison thinks. Like them in the hall at school. Maybe this is normal. That’s her working assumption anyways, right up until she catches Scott glancing over his shoulder at Isaac too. Only for a second. He refocuses then, turns back to face her with an intensity she recognizes. Like, as in he’s refusing to let himself get distracted just like she is. So that’s interesting. 

Scott makes pointed eye contact with her, his serious leader face on. Allison raises her eyebrows, as neutral as she can be. Her face is probably flushed. He doesn’t seem to notice. “I like this,” he says. “You on the team.” 

“Me too,” Allison says after a second. 

“I'm too nice to do some stuff, sometimes,” he continues, and then stops. And she's not. He’s too nice to even say it.

Just the acknowledgement of their differences helps her feel known, though. He doesn’t have to say things when they’re obvious. “Yeah," she says. “But that’s why you’ve got me.” 

Scott smiles. He has dark circles under his eyes and exhaustion all over the rest of him, but he sounds nothing but sincere when he says, “I’m so glad I still get to have you.” As he’s talking, Isaac comes back over to them, slightly drier and more tentative. Scott’s smile just gets brighter when he sees him. “You too,” he says. 

“Me too, what?” Isaac sits back against the arm of the couch his feet up and knees to his chest, away from both of them. 

“I’m glad you’re on the team,” Scott answers without hesitation. “And I’m glad you’ve got each other.” 

“What do you mean?” Isaac asks, and Allison looks over at him to agree. Weird thing to say. Isaac meets her eyes, chewing on a nail, and then they both look back at Scott. 

Scott looks actually bright with warmth, a glow that lights him from inside out. “I’m not always a super good listener,” he says with a shrug. “Or great at getting people to talk when they don’t want to. And the two of you really don’t want to, most of the time. So. I’m glad you can talk to each other.” 

She frowns at first, but he’s right. Scott’s trustworthy, but not her first call when she needs to get something off her chest. Even when they were together, he wasn’t someone she vented to. She didn’t need that from him. But knowing that is one thing, and getting this kind of approval is something else. She doesn’t need his permission. But it’s something. And Isaac does need that permission, maybe. He relaxes a little bit when Scott says that. 

It’s bullshit that Isaac feels like he has to be scared of being too close to someone. It’s unacceptable. She can’t fix it, but she can do something. 

“What time is it?” Allison asks mostly rhetorically. The clock over on the kitchen wall says it’s a little past ten. She could probably get her crossbow and surprise Derek while he’s asleep. “I’m going home.” 

Scott runs a hand through his hair. “Do you have to?” 

“I can keep myself safe.” 

“I know, but.” 

Isaac speaks up. “I’ll go with you,” he says to Allison. 

Allison raises her eyebrows at him. “Sorry, just to be clear. I’m going home. My home. And you want to come with me.” 

He doesn't tense. Maybe, after all their time together, they have something approaching trust. And also maybe he’s onto her. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

Scott’s so exhausted that he doesn’t argue with them, only nods and says “If I’m asleep when you get back, Isaac, you can let yourself in through the window. Okay?” 

Isaac nods, and gets up when Allison stands. “Sure,” he says again, and nothing else. They make it into the car and to the end of the street before Isaac speaks again. “Is your dad home?” 

“Yep. You can come in and see him, if you want.” 

Isaac glances at her and scratches the back of his neck. He's silent for a couple stop signs. “Is he gonna go with you?” he finally asks. 

“Where?” Allison says innocently. 

“Come on, Allison,” he says. “All of a sudden you have to go home?”

She can’t remember if he’s ever said her name before. “And what,” Allison says, and glances over at him. “You’re here to stop me?” 

He’s looking out the window at nothing. Maybe his werewolf eyes can see things she can’t. “I’ll meet your dad,” he says after a moment. “If he’s still awake.” 

Dad’s definitely still awake. He might not be sleeping at all, actually. Allison always finds him up before her, and his lights are on most nights when she goes to bed. Just as she expects, when they pull up to the house most of the lights are still on, including the porch lights. Isaac looks up at the house as he comes around to her side, his hands in his pockets. “Huh,” he says. “Nice.” 

Allison takes a second to evaluate his face. “You don’t have to come in,” she says. “I’m fine, I’m home safe.” 

“Are you staying home?” he asks. 

It wouldn’t be that hard to lie to him. But Allison feels how his shoulder pressed into hers and hears him saying _it’s not a big deal_. A lie he had to know she could see through. She thinks about Scott, and how he thinks they have each other to talk to. Scott always makes her want to be who he believes she is. That’s the most dangerous thing about him. 

“No,” Allison says. 

Isaac doesn’t acknowledge the obvious seconds of deliberation between him asking and her answering, he just nods pleasantly. “Then I’ll come with you.” And somehow he almost makes it sound easy, like _of course_ he’ll come with her inside. That’s expected. 

She won’t be the one to break the facade. “Okay,” she says with a shrug, and leads him to the door. 

“Hey Dad?” she calls when they're inside. Isaac’s standing so close to her she can feel the heat from his body.

“What is it?” her dad calls back. His voice is so blank she winces. 

“We have a guest.”

After a few moments, she hears rustling from his office, and then Dad comes into the front hall. He hasn't shaved for a while, and he's generally disheveled. She feels Isaac tense at the sight of him. “Who's this?" Dad says. Still doing that domestic lie him and Mom loved. It’s sort of frightening, now. 

“This is Isaac, he's my friend,” Allison says, and shifts to put a hand on Isaac’s arm, claiming him. She wants to make it clear that Dad can’t touch him. “You met him,” she adds. “The night Grandpa died.” 

Dad has eyes a lot like Isaac’s, now that she thinks about it. Light and hard. “You’re one of Derek Hale’s werewolves,” he says. 

“Yes sir.” Isaac’s voice doesn't shake, but there’s a tone she’s never heard from him before, this kind of tightness. “Nice to meet you.” 

Dad gives Isaac a long, hard look. “My daughter stabbed you.”

“Yes she did.”

“Nice to meet you too." Dad sticks his hand out and Isaac shakes it. 

“I need weapons,” Allison says. 

“C’mon.” For the first time since Mom died, Dad walks somewhere with purpose. He leads them to the stockpile room in the basement; table in the middle, storage around the perimeter. She sees Isaac check the size and the door, looking back up the steps longingly. “Knives?” Dad asks her. 

“Yeah. Something I can throw.” 

He pulls a few rolls out of a cabinet and unfurls one on the table. “This one’s good, nicely weighted for throwing,” he says, pulling a knife out. Isaac takes a step back, but Dad says, “Come here, Isaac.”

Isaac and Allison make eye contact for a second, and then Isaac obeys. He lets her dad take his hand and wrap it around another knife. "This one's good for quick swipes,” Dad says. Isaac manages a nod. "Try it.” Isaac gives a lame, half-hearted swipe. “You’ve gotta put a little more oomph into it if you want to draw blood,” Dad tells him. 

“Yeah, you have to commit,” Allison finishes for him, and she and Dad just look at each other for a moment. 

“Right,” Isaac says, and sets the knife down. “I don’t think I want to. But thanks.” He comes back to Allison, and she gets the feeling he'd hide behind her, if that was even possible.

“Squeamish?” Dad says. 

Isaac’s shoulders hunch, a motion she recognizes from when Mr. Harris was mocking him. “I guess, sir.” And she can feel him wait for Dad to pile on. 

Dad just nods. "Allison can handle herself just fine.” 

Hearing that doesn’t just fill her with pride, like it did when Grandpa says it. She doesn’t think it’s just projection to hear some regret in his tone too. But she doesn’t want to deal with that right now, so she asks, “Where are the bolts laced with the wolfsbane?”

“Around here somewhere.” Dad digs through a couple bins, then goes into the back room to keep looking. He can probably still hear them, but it’s a moment of relative privacy. 

Allison picks a knife out of the roll, one of the shorter ones, and weighs it in her hand. Isaac leans on the table next to her, tendons in his wrist standing out. “Allison,” he says. 

There he is, saying her name again. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t… I don’t think you should do this,” he tells her very softly. “I mean. Not that you care what I think.” 

“I do,” Allison says stubbornly, and then it occurs to her this is probably how he meant for her to respond. 

He doesn’t act like he played her, though, he just looks at her warmly. “Okay. Well. It’s pointless.” 

“Pointless," she repeats. 

“Yeah.” He taps his fingernail against the table top. “I mean, you’re not gonna kill him, right? Because Scott said.” 

“I don’t answer to Scott.” 

Isaac tips his head to one side. “Yeah, but.” 

It’s a decent point. Allisons screws her mouth up. “No. I won’t.” 

“Right,” Isaac says. “So. It’s just going to annoy Derek, it won’t do anything.” 

“He’ll won’t throw shit at you again,” Allison says. Her throat is tight, her shoulders feel tense, but Isaac next to her is relaxed.

“Maybe,” he says. 

“No, he won’t. I’ll make him promise. That's the whole point.” Allison nudges his hand with hers on the table. “He doesn't get to do this.” 

Isaac pulls one corner of his mouth up in a smile. “Okay. And I… appreciate that. Really. A lot. But then he won't help Scott next time we need it. And I think… I think you just want blood. For your mom.” 

Allison's jaw clenches on accident. Isaac stills next to her, ready for her to be angry, which is precisely why she doesn’t let herself be. “Okay,” she says. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re aware but Jackson killed my dad last year,” he says, and she rolls her eyes agreeably. He smiles back, and adds in a more serious tone, “So I get it, I think. Some of it. And nothing’s going to make it feel better. Even putting this into his heart, it wouldn't help. She’s dead and that won’t make her come back.” 

Allison curls her hands into fists on the table, and then uncurls them very carefully. She has to clear her throat. “You don’t want her to come back. She would've killed you without thinking twice,” she says. 

“Yeah, but. She was your mom, though. Even after everything that happened, my dad was still my dad.” He reaches out and runs his finger over the handle of one of the knives. “Not like it's the same.” 

“Stop it. Stop minimizing.”

“Okay. Well. That's what I think." 

Allison picks another knife out and turns it in her hands a couple times. And she thinks. This is different than how Lydia declares truths, or how Scott offers advice he gets upset that she doesn’t take. This is simple. A suggestion for her to consider. So she considers it.

“I would’ve thought,” she says after a second, “that you’d totally hate your dad. After everything.” 

Isaac shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is tense again. “I’m not saying I don’t, but. He’s also my anchor, so.” 

“What’s that, what’s an anchor?” Allison asks, and Dad comes back with a bundle of crossbow bolts. He listens to Isaac’s answer, too, interest in his eyes. 

“It’s… like, the thing that you hold onto. To keep yourself human.” Isaac looks between the two of them. “The thing that keeps you from going crazy on a full moon.” 

“Does everyone have them?” 

Isaac nods. “I think so. Derek’s is like, anger, his anger about his family.” 

“Makes sense,” Allison mutters, with a look at Dad. 

“And werewolves who are out of control,” Dad says. “They don’t have these anchors? Or they’ve chosen incorrectly?” 

“Uh, I don’t know. Derek knows more about this stuff.” 

Allison nods, looks at her Dad who seems to be lost in thought again. “You know,” she says, “it’s probably not a great idea to tell hunters new information about werewolves. We could use it against you.” 

“I guess I trust you,” Isaac says, and makes eye contact with her. Steadfast, just like Scott. Giving up the tactical advantage to tell the truth. 

“Y’know what, keep these," Allison says. “I’m gonna wait.” 

Dad tunes back in to hear that and looks at her curiously. “Why?” 

“I don’t know if it's the right thing to do,” she says, and glances at Isaac to make sure he gets what she’s saying. Isaac fights off a smile, ducks his head again. “And I want to be right. We're supposed to be better than murders.” 

Dad gives her a proud look, nods and picks things back up to put them away. “What exactly did Derek do?” he asks. 

She can’t tell if it’s good or bad, that he’s showing interest. Before she figures that out, Isaac answers. “He made the mistake of threatening one of Scott’s friends,” he says with half a smile. Which is right. But is he just Scott’s friend? Allison isn’t sure. 

“Ah,” Dad says. “Critical error. You hungry?” he asks Isaac. 

Isaac looks from Dad to Allison, surprised. It seems like he thinks it’s a trick question. “Uh, yeah,” he answers. “Always.” 

“Great,” Dad says. “Because we still have more casseroles than we know what to do with.” 

It’s true. They do. So that’s how they end up in the kitchen together, standing around the island as Dad pulls dishes out of the fridge. “Anything you won’t eat?” Dad asks as he takes foil and lids off.

Isaac is sticking close by Allison for this, kind of like the way he stays close to Scott. “No sir,” he answers. 

Dad’s getting annoyed with the whole “sir” thing, but he hands them forks anyways. “Help yourself,” Dad says. 

And Isaac obeys, but only once he’s looked around the room, clocking the exits again. Not for the first time, Allison wonders what his dad did to him to make him so jumpy. 

Dad notices too. “Something scaring you?” he asks. 

Isaac just shrugs one shoulder. “Seen both of you in action.” It’s clear he means that as a compliment, which is good because they’d probably take it as one anyways. 

That goes over well. Dad does that pursed lip thing he does when he’s trying not to smile. “Fair enough,” he says. “Well, eat whatever you want. Finish it, if you can. It’ll go bad pretty soon.” 

Isaac starts in on a dish of french toast casserole that Allison thinks is probably technically bread pudding. Allison has a bit, too. Dad’s digging into a lasagna. “Who gave you all this?” Isaac asks after a few bites.

“We have an extensive network,” Dad says. “Bad at condolences. Good at cooking. So.” 

“Well, it’s delicious,” Isaac says politely. Or maybe it’s not just polite, because he eats all of it and then moves on to some au gratin potatoes. 

Allison mostly watches. She can’t remember the last time she was actually hungry, or the last time she and Dad ate together for that matter. She wonders if Dad’s thinking about that too, or if he hasn’t noticed. Mom always did dinner, Dad did dessert. 

“You’re at the McCalls’ a lot,” Dad says, addressing Isaac in particular. 

“Yeah,” Isaac answers hesitantly.

“Two werewolves in a household.” Dad arranges a forkful of lasagna. “Wonder what that grocery budget is like,” he says, and takes his bite. “I bet you could take a lot of these off our hands.” 

That’s actually a really good point. Allison hasn’t thought about that, but the boys are sort of always eating. Snacking when she’s over there, eating in class, finishing every single crumb they make for dinner. “Yeah,” Isaac says. “Scott will eat basically everything, too.” 

“I am familiar with Scott’s less than discerning palate,” Dad says dryly. A joke. “I’ll pack what we won’t eat, you can take it back with you.” 

He packs up most of the food, actually, in a bunch of stacking tupperware. Keeps a few servings of potato salad and breakfast casserole for them, but that's about it. Allison helps, takes the empty dishes to the sink and starts to rinse them out. She’s rinsing out her second one when Isaac joins her to help. 

THere’s something he wants to say. She bumps into him intentionally to loosen him up, makes him smile a little. “Hey,” he says. 

“Yeah?”

“Be careful, with… if you were thinking about the twins, like.” He turns the water off, stacks things up in the sink. Re-stacks, actually, so everything fits together better. 

“Has something else happened with them?” 

“Well, kind of. They’re both alphas,” he says quietly, and she finally understands why he’s being so quiet. “I saw their eyes.” 

“When?” 

“Not important.” 

Allison objects to that very strongly. “You’re sure?” 

He nods. “No idea how that’s even possible, but.” 

“I can check the bestiary,” she says. “There’s a whole section on werewolves.”

Isaac nods again. There’s more he has to say, but then Dad wants to talk to him about reheating techniques so that’s the next like, five minutes. It’s definitely more information than Isaac needs; she suspects the boys will wolf down most of this cold - pun intended. But Isaac listens in a way that seems authentically interested, which Allison is grateful for. Dad’s so much more like normal right now. It gives Allison hope. 

Finally, Dad runs out of directions to give and heads back to his office - she knows when she’s deliberately being given privacy, and she’s going to take advantage of it. They’re at the island again, facing each other over one corner. Isaac’s regarding the impressive stack of food he’ll be taking with them. “So there’s twins who are alphas,” she says to Isaac. “Where’s their packs?” 

“That’s the thing,” Isaac says. “We don’t think they’re leading packs, we think they’re part of one pack. Together.”

“Is that even possible?”

Isaac shrugs. “We’re still trying to figure it out.”

“We who?” 

“Scott and Stiles and me.” He opens his mouth to stay more and then stops, shuts it again. 

“Just say it,” she says. “Tell me.” 

It’s not hard to convince him to talk. There’s a second of indecision more, and then he says, “It’d just be really helpful to hear what you think about all of this. But only if that’s something you want to do,” he adds quickly. “I know helping the pack is probably like, the last thing you want to do.” 

“Well,” Allison says. “I’ll always help Scott’s pack.” 

Isaac’s face brightens then, and he nods. “Okay,” he says. “Would you want to come over and like, talk? With us?” 

“Sure.” 

“We were going to talk Tuesday.” 

“I can do Tuesday,” Allison agrees, and looks up at him. He sort of looms over her. She probably should think of being this close to a werewolf as dangerous, but she can’t remember to be scared of him. Even as she notices that he’s a full head taller than her. 

“I should probably get back to Scott,” Isaac says then. “With all of this. And I need to sleep, at some point.” 

“Right.”

“Thanks for having my back today. It was…” 

Allison understands. Having someone on your side is such a rare gift. She doesn't know what to say. “Stop thanking me. I’m being decent.”

“Right.” Isaac nods, but she can tell he’s being maliciously compliant even before he continues. “Decent people almost fight teachers for anybody. It's basic civility to help someone with a panic attack.” 

“I think I told you to shut up." 

“Right,” he repeats, and begins to gather up the containers. 

“I’ll get you a bag,” she says, and squats to dig through the bag cabinet to find one of the good reusable ones. “Derek doesn’t have your back?” she asks. “Scott?” 

He sighs, looks up at the ceiling and then over at her. “Well, Scott doesn’t ask so many questions,” he says, with a hint of mischief in his voice. 

“Yeah. Scott respects boundaries. Another one of our many differences.” She finds the bag she’s looking for and stands up with it, takes it over to him and starts to fill it. “I get Scott,” she says then. “Why are you still loyal to Derek after this?” 

Isaac kind of shrugs. “He’s still my alpha. I have to listen to him. He’s not a terrible person, he just… he doesn’t really believe in niceness. Or cutting people slack. But also he’s been on his own since he was twelve maybe? So.” 

Allison does not care about Derek’s tragedies. It’s no excuse. But that’s not something she’s going to get into with Isaac. “Okay. You sure?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Thanks. For everything,” he says. 

“Want to say bye to my dad?” 

“Should I?”

“Sure, he’d like that.” 

So Isaac comes with me to the door of Dad’s office. “Thanks for everything, sir,” he says to Dad. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You heading out?” Isaac nods. Dad looks at Allison and then back to Isaac. “Okay. Nice to meet you too. Bye.” 

“Bye.” Isaac bobs his head in another nod, and escapes to the front door, carrying his oversized bag of provisions. “So. I’ll see you later.” 

“Yeah, bye.” 

“Bye.” 

They’re awkward with these normal things. Allison watches him go for a moment, and then shuts the door and locks it. 

“Al?” Dad calls. 

“Yeah?” She walks back to his office. 

Dad’s sitting at his desk same as before. He leans on it towards her, hands folded in front of him. “Explain the hyper-vigilance.” 

Allison crosses her arms. “What do you mean?” 

“Isaac. Why’s he so on guard?” 

“I don’t really… I’m not sure.” 

“Really?” 

“Nothing concrete. He’s not dangerous,” she adds.

Dad snorts - that’s apparently obvious enough that she doesn’t have to mention it. “Yeah, okay. That’s all.”

She’s dismissed. Just like normal. Allison doesn’t protest, doesn’t want to burst the bubble, so she goes back up to her room. And then, after a few minutes, it occurs to her what Dad’s response means. Dad totally likes him. 

Scott calls the next day. “Hey, how’d last night go?” he asks when she picks up. Third ring. Not desperate.

“Good,” Allison answers. “He met Dad, and Dad likes him, which is…” 

“Unexpected?”

“Kind of. I think it helps that Isaac doesn’t have a confrontational bone in his body, so.”

“Good point. It was super nice of him to send all those leftovers.” 

“Oh, yeah. No problem. We had way too many trays of things, so. We’d rather someone eat them than throw them away.” 

Scott snorts. “Oh, we’ll definitely eat them. We’ve already finished like, all of the pastas.” So Dad was onto something, with the whole food question. “So, uh, I hear you want to help us figure some stuff out?”

“Isaac?” 

“I promise I didn’t make him tell me.” She can hear his smile. It feels small, and near. 

“Okay,” Allison says with half a smile back, picking at her big toe nail. “Good. Yeah, he said I should come by Tuesday?” 

“Yeah, that’d be perfect. No cross-country, so we can meet at my place right after school. You could bring Lydia, too, if you want.” 

Allison waits until her smirk won’t be audible to answer. “Lydia’s busy. But I’ll be there for sure, and I’ll bring my copy of the bestiary. There’s got to be some information about alphas in there.” 

“Awesome. And tonight, you’re home for the night?”

“Yeah, why?” 

“I don’t want to make it too easy for someone to get to the people I love,” Scott says. “Isaac and I are taking turns keeping Mom safe.” 

“You need help?” 

“We’ve got it covered. But thanks for offering,” he adds brightly. 

“Good. Well, I’ll see you Tuesday, then. And in the meantime I’ll see you at school.” 

“Yeah, see you. Stay safe.”

“You too. Bye.” 

“Bye.” Allison hangs up and looks over at Lydia. “See? Does it sound like I’m still in love with him?” 

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Absolutely, one hundred percent, yes. You offered to stay the night with like, zero prompting.” 

“It’s dangerous!”

“Not that dangerous. And nice move, keeping me out of it. I’m _not_ trying to spend my afternoons with a bunch of boys. You can fill me in if anything important happens. What color do you want for your toenails?” Lydia holds up a few bottles. 

“Maroon,” Allison chooses. 

Lydia drops all the other bottles back on Allison’s desk and crawls over the bed towards her. There’s already a towel under Allison’s feet. Lydia scoots up close and twists the lid off. “What do you get out of him anyways?” she asks, half to herself, and starts on one foot. 

“It’s not just Scott,” Allison says. “It’s also definitely Isaac.” 

Lydia raises her eyebrows without looking up from Allison’s feet. “Yeah? You like him?”

“Yeah. Maybe. He’s… he makes sense to me. In a weird way. And he knows who I am.” 

“Mmm.” Lydia doesn’t apparently have much to add for a while. “Doesn’t Scott know who you are?” she says eventually, when she finishes one foot and moves to the other. 

“Well. He knows who I used to be, or like who I thought I was. Before all of this happened. And he’s making an effort to, like. We’re talking. He’s working on it, but. Isaac…” 

“Isaac knows you’re a hunter and a badass because you stabbed him,” Lydia nods. “Not quite the same.” 

Allison is hit with the urge to flop back on her bed, but Lydia would kill her so she just sighs. “No,” she says. “Not quite. But maybe it’s stupid to want to date someone who understands me totally.” 

That is something Lydia agrees with. “I’ve given up on it entirely,” she says. “And I’m much happier. But,” she added, with a pointed look up at Allison. “Someone could argue that I’m just a pessimistic snob pretending to be cynical as protection from being hurt again.” 

“Who would argue that?” Allison scoffs. 

Lydia shrugs archly. “Some people.” 

Their friendship works so well. Lydia is able to be her full self and argue for and against everything she’s thinking about, and Allison gets to have the smartest best friend and sounding board anyone’s ever had. Maybe it is too much, to want other people who understand her like this.

“Lydia,” Allison begins, and then doesn’t know how to say what she means. Lydia just waits, tilting her head in the way that made Jackson so annoyed but Allison thinks is cute. “I know you joke about it, but. How’s your whole… psychic thing?” 

“Infuriating,” Lydia says. “No closer to any answers. Turns out, premonitions about death are pretty middle of the road as far as supernatural powers go. There’s dozens of options, so. Until I do something else, I’ll just keep my location on, on my phone, and document any weirdness.” She shrugs. 

Allison nods. “If I can do anything…” 

“I’ll call you when I need an arrow shot,” Lydia promises. It sounds a little mean, but she smiles and Allison smiles back because she knows Lydia sometimes just sounds mean. She said she’d call. That’s what matters. 

“Have you asked any of the pack about this?” Allison asks, wrinkling her nose at the word. Werewolf terms are so lame. 

“No,” Lydia says definitively. “This whole alpha pack thing has them pretty busy. Not that they’d have any good advice either way.”

“Oh. Yeah, Isaac mentioned that, that’s what they want to talk about Tuesday.” 

Lydia nods - this makes perfect sense to her. “They’re looking for information. Deucalion is probably lying, but it’s hard to say when they don’t have anything else to go on. At least your people are keeping the alphas busy.” 

“They’re not my people,” Allison says automatically, and then frowns. “Wait, what?” 

“The hunters,” Lydia says. She seems to think Allison is missing something obvious. “They’re going after the alpha pack. And whatever other werewolves they can get their hands on.” 

“Oh.” 

Lydia shakes up the closed bottle of nail polish and gives Allison a long, speculative look. “Aren’t they the ones who eviscerated Isaac that one time you took him to the hospital?” 

That has completely slipped Allison’s mind. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah, I guess. Wait. How do you know so much about all of this?” 

Lydia shrugs, and taps Allison’s toenail to test the dryness. Evidently it’s dry; she goes back for the second coat. “Stiles kind of talks at me, and I pick things up by osmosis, I guess.”

“Uh huh,” Allison says, and examines Lydia’s face closely. 

Her tone is not subtle enough; Lydia looks up at her. “I don’t like Stiles,” she says. “I’m never going to like him.” 

“That’s fine,” Allison says. “Just a question.” 

“Okay.” Lydia looks back down. “He’s fine. He’s… we’re friends. In a weird way. But…” She hesitates for several long moments. Finally, she says, “I have it handled. Don’t worry.” 

“Why do people think saying ‘don’t worry’ works?” Allison says. 

“Because usually people have friends that pretend to try that it does.” 

“Lame,” Allison says. “I’ll call you if we hit a wall, though.” 

“Obviously,” Lydia sniffs. “I’ll try to keep my lupine negative comments to a minimum.”

Allison nods, faux solemn. “So only like, twenty?” she says, a smirk growing on her face. 

“Hey. I’m not the one who stabbed them,” Lydia points out with a smirk of her own. 

That’s a pretty interesting point too, though, joke aside, another thing Allison hadn’t thought about before when she was sort of numb. And she was numb for months after Mom died; it’s something she can only see now that she isn’t, just how far she’d sunk into solitude and rage. Almost as far as she’d sunk knives into Isaac’s shoulders, and Erica’s stomach, and Boyd’s arm. She’d carved them all up, and hadn’t really thought about it beyond that.

There’s no good moment to bring it up in class. Allison’s starting to think better of saying anything, actually, but then she gets to lunch unusually early and the only people at her lunch table are Isaac, Boyd, and Erica. Lydia’s in line. Scott and Stiles must be running late. And that feels a lot like a sign. So Allison sits down, next to Isaac and across from Boyd and Erica, and she says, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Erica echoes, a smirk on her face. “How’s your day?” 

Allison looks at her and then at Boyd, who’s patiently bemused, and then Isaac, who’s leaning on the table and looking at her from surprisingly close. “I stabbed you,” she says to all of them, but she’s also just talking to him. 

“Yeah,” Isaac smiles. “You did.” It’s kind of crazy how he can make that sound like something neutral.

“Was that in doubt?” Boyd asks. 

“No,” Allison says. “No, but. I… I didn’t think about it before.” 

“Well, three of your immediate family members died,” Erica says, with her typical sardonic edge that makes it sound like an insult. “I think it’s probably safe to say you had a lot on your mind.” 

Allison gives her a look, the kind of look that wants a better answer than that and can’t believe what she’s heard. “Sure,” Allison begins, but Boyd cuts her off. 

“Wait,” he says. “Is this you apologizing?” 

“She’s not good at it,” Isaac says, and smirks when Allison draws up taller to glare at him, offended and surprised. He puts one hand out, palm up, a kind of shrug. “You’re not.”

“I’m great at apologizing,” Allison says firmly. “You’ve just skipped several conversational steps, you’ve skipped ahead of me.” 

Erica sighs, but the look in her eye seems a little fonder than usual. Like maybe she likes Allison. “Let’s hear it, then,” she says. 

“Okay,” Allison says. “Well. I am extremely sorry, and even though you heal faster that doesn’t make it okay. And I won’t do it again.” Everyone’s smiling; she can even feel it from Isaac next to her, warmth on the side of her face like the sun and sees it when she glances over to double check. “What,” she says. 

“Derek broke my leg last night,” Erica says. “Just to check how fast we’re healing. So. Don’t worry about it. We’re fine.” 

Allison raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth, but Isaac puts a few fingers on her arm. “It’s not what it sounds like,” he says. 

“What isn’t?” Lydia asks absently, setting her tray down with a clatter. 

“Are you going to homecoming?” Erica says before Allison can answer. 

Lydia shrugs. “Maybe. Why?” 

Erica’s smile turns lascivious. “Because I need a date.” 

Allison is extremely interested in how that makes her normally very composed best friend blush. She’s also distracted, though, by how Isaac still has his hand on her arm. And not like he forgot, but more like he thinks that’s allowed. She keeps watching Lydia, and he keeps his hand there, and her ears start ringing, her face feels so hot it must be pink but Erica’s just saying something to Lydia again and Lydia’s snapping something back and Boyd is meticulously licking clean the lid of his yogurt and it’s all a lot. It feels like a lot. 

“Allison,” Isaac says, presses on her arm just a touch harder. Enough to get her attention, so she turns towards him and meets his eyes. He looks worried. 

“What,” she says. 

“Derek just does what his uncle taught him to do, alright,” Isaac says, very carefully. Like she might freak out.

Allison frowns at him, momentary panic forgotten. “The uncle that he killed last year?” 

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, as an excuse. Can’t he just _not_ break your bones? Isn’t that an option?” 

His hand hasn’t moved. “I don’t know,” Isaac says. “Okay? But we’re fine. Apology accepted. For all three of us.” 

“That’s not how it works,” she says. She can’t help herself - she’s smiling a little, at him, and he’s smiling back. 

“Sure it is,” he shrugs. He finally takes his hand off of her then, crosses his arms on the table. Just in time for Scott to walk by, past Allison, to sit on Isaac’s other side. Stiles plops down across from him, next to Boyd. Seems like Isaac doesn’t want Scott to see. Allison doesn’t know how she feels about that.

“Hey guys,” Scott says, leaning over to make a moment of eye contact with each of them, specifically. 

“Allison just apologized for stabbing us,” Boyd informs him. 

“That’s great,” Scott says, completely missing Boyd’s sarcasm. “Is it true that Harris is out sick?” 

“Yes,” Lydia answers from the other end of the table. 

Stiles fist pumps so hard he knocks his elbow on the table, and then spends a lot of time moaning about the injury. Isaac and him get into it, over the logistics of the funny bones, and Lydia and Erica continue bickering and Scott and Boyd talk about cross-country times or something, and Allison doesn’t say anything for a moment because something’s in her head. A thought’s waiting to be had, not quite totally finished. 

When she gets home, Dad’s cooking. Not just microwaving something, actually cooking - she smells garlic and onions and ginger, and she’s going to go join him once she puts down her backpack. They’re going to cook as a family, and eat together, and maybe Dad will say something about Argent traditions. He hasn’t mentioned them since Mom died. 

Allison’s changing into comfortable pants when her phone rings, the screen covered in the terrible picture of Stiles she took when he tripped over a hose attempting to do some dance move. “Stiles,” Allison says. “It’s not a good time.” 

“Is Derek alive?” Stiles says, which is confusing enough that it gets her attention. 

“Um, as far as I know, yeah. Why?” 

“Scott just… he did a thing, and I don’t know what that thing means, but I have a feeling it’s bad. Mostly because the things that happen are only bad, for us.” 

Allison frowns and smiles, the usual Stiles reaction. “What happened?” she asks as she pulls her sweatpants on. “Aren’t you at practice?” 

“Technically. But practice is kind of fucked today. The twins went after Isaac and Erica, they cornered them and attacked or whatever, and Scott fucking…” Stiles lets out a deep breath, phone fuzzing it into static. “You’re sure Derek’s fine?”

“Stiles, the only person who’d kill Derek is me, and I haven’t,” Allison says, and adjusts her grip on her phone. “What the hell happened?” 

“Scott… did a kind of… alpha thing,” Stiles says, hating it. “I think.” 

“What kind of alpha thing?” 

“He got between everyone and like yelled them into stopping and his eyes went white.” 

“White,” she repeats. 

“Swear to God.” 

“What does white mean?” 

“Considering that it got two alphas to back off? I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem good. Can you check the bestiary about this?” 

“Yeah, there’s gotta be something about the eye colors. I’ll bring it tomorrow.” She starts looking for the iPad now, actually, just while she can. 

“Oh, you’re coming tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. We need someone with some actual _sense_.” 

Allison snorts. “Scott doesn’t have sense?” 

“Scott thinks he can talk his way out of this shit with the alpha pack, so no, not in this situation, really. And Isaac just says he trusts Scott, like that’s helpful at all.” Stiles sighs. “So. Whatever. We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

“Is everyone okay?” Allison asks. 

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles says. “Erica’s ankle healed before Coach saw it and Isaac says his ribs are back to normal, so.” 

It takes a moment for Allison to get herself normal-sounding enough to reply. “Great.” 

“Yep. See you.” 

“Bye.” 

Allison does go down to cook with her dad, she just takes a second to check the bestiary first. The section on werewolves is the longest - like twenty pages on ways to kill them and what their weaknesses are. And after all of that, she finds two sentences that are relevant. 

_The only shapeshifters of reason have eyes of silver. They appear to be equal to the rank of alpha, having risen through strength of character rather than stealing the power of another._

“Strength of character,” Stiles repeats, when she reads it out to them the next day. They’re all standing in Scott’s kitchen, waiting for the coffee to be done. “Y’know, this all seems pretty self-aggrandizing for a bunch of guys that turn into wolves depending on the lunar cycle. First Jackson’s whole thing, where he didn’t love himself enough to not kill people or whatever-” 

“He wasn’t able to control his wolf because he was in denial about who he was,” Scott corrects, leaning on the counter across from Stiles. 

“-then there’s that thing where killing the wrong person permanently changes your eye color,” Stiles continues, undeterred. 

Scott rolls his eyes. “Taking an _innocent_ _life_ has consequences.” 

“And that’s not even getting into how you’re apparently biologically required to obey whoever’s in charge,” Stiles says, his voice rising. “And who’s in charge? Oh, whoever killed the last guy to be in charge. Great system. Definitely doesn’t over-select for toxic masculinity.” 

Isaac’s propped against the counter next to Allison, close enough that parts of their sides are touching. “Okay, but, what does it mean?” he says. “Scott is this weird kind of alpha?”

“I’m not an alpha,” Scott says, which is ridiculous. 

“Uh, I’m sorry,” Allison says. “Did I misinterpret what happened yesterday?” 

Scott sighs, very put upon. “No,” he says. “But did you miss the part where I’m sixteen, and kind of want to pass chemistry and like, figure out where I’m going to college? I don’t need to be an alpha. You guys have Derek.” This last part is addressed at Isaac, who is holding very still next to Allison, listening. 

“Derek who broke Erica’s leg this weekend,” Allison interjects. “A great leader.” 

“Derek who’s an adult!” Scott says with an emphatic gesture. “Who knows what he’s doing. Or knows more than I do, at least. He wants to do the right thing, he just needs some help with knowing what that is. I mean, his family all died when he was younger than us.” 

“Which is why you’d be a better leader,” Allison says. 

“No, it’s why I should stay the hell away from all of this,” Scott says, and looks at Stiles for support. 

Stiles makes the kind of face that says he’s not able to say what he knows Scott wants him to. “I dunno, man,” he says. “I mean, yes, obviously I want the most important thing to be lacrosse and getting a prom date and getting Harris fired. But what if the alpha pack decides they really want him? None of those guys have their original packs, in case you haven’t noticed, and I don’t think they just left them at home.” 

“Derek wouldn’t kill the pack,” Scott says with total faith. 

“Sure,” Isaac says. “Because he’s never killed before.” 

Scott gives him a look - gives all of them the same look then, annoyed and a little hurt, if Allison’s reading him right. “So you want _me_ to figure out how to take Derek’s pack and basically make sure he’ll never want to talk to me again, and then somehow figure out how to fight the alpha packalone, without him.”

“You’re not alone,” Allison says. “You have us.” 

“Great. A bunch of teenagers trying to take on some of the most powerful werewolves in probably the entire freaking world. That’ll go well,” Scott says, and pours himself a cup of coffee before the pot is finished so he can escape the kitchen. 

Stiles sighs, scratching the back of his head. Allison pulls a hand through her hair. “That could’ve gone better,” Stiles says. 

“I don’t get it,” Allison says. “He could fix everything.”

“Look, no offense,” Stiles says, “but I don’t think you have the most healthy view of what age-appropriate behavior is.” 

Allison glares at him in surprise. “Excuse me?” 

Stiles shrugs, his shoulders up around his ears, and does a lot of gestures. When Allison doesn’t say anything else he says, “Well, didn’t your parents try to make you commander in chief when you were sixteen?” She nods. “Okay… and that seems normal to you?” 

“It’s Argent family tradition,” Allison says. 

“Right,” Stiles says, like that makes his point. He gets himself coffee then too, sipping it black as he follows Scott over to the couches. 

Isaac hasn’t moved. He looks at Allison when she looks up at him, kind of blank. Waiting to hear what she has to say. She has serious flashbacks to the first time she was here with him, when he told her to pick up the knife and then watched her cook in silence. He was keeping an eye on her, she thinks. Like he’s doing now. 

When the pot’s done, Isaac pours himself a cup, then pours one for her too. She watches his hands. They’re long, strong in a wiry way like the rest of him. Her heart picks up a little, she feels it just barely starting, and then Isaac looks over at her. 

“Why are you so in touch with my pulse?” she demands. 

“I can hear anyone’s,” Isaac begins. 

“Yeah, but you always pick out mine.” 

Isaac gets creamer out of the fridge and pours some into his cup before offering it to her. Allison takes it and tips a splash in, and Isaac puts the bottle back when she’s done. All of this in silence. 

“It’s easier to hear it,” he finally says. “You’re usually steady. More steady than other people.”

Oh. Well. That makes sense. Allison picks up her mug and takes it coffee back to the couch, and he follows. Scott and Stiles are on one couch together, arguing about something and coming very close to kicking each other hard enough to spill their mugs. Allison sits on the side of the couch closer to them, and Isaac takes a seat next to her. It occurs to her, after a second, that technically she’s surrounded. Maybe she should be afraid.

“But it’s not like… I mean. I don't know why your heart sped up,” he says, obviously as soon as he thinks of it. “So it’s really not all that important.” 

Allison glances over at him while taking a sip of her coffee. “Sure,” she says, and then takes pity on him. “I’ve had training. I’ve been able to pass a polygraph test since I was nine.” 

“Whoa,” Isaac raises his eyebrows.

“I’m guessing that’s not a normal family activity.” 

“Well, not that I’m a good judge of that,” Isaac answers in a conspiratorial tone. “But I’d have to say no, that doesn’t strike me as particularly normal.”

That’s kind of why Allison doesn’t want to linger on this subject any longer. Luckily, Stiles is as ready as ever to distract. “Scott,” he says at the top of his lungs, and sits on the arm of the couch to get out of Scott’s range. “Innocent is a loaded term, can you just admit that?” 

“It’s pretty straight-forward,” Scott objects, leaning over to set his mug on his coffee table. 

“Okay, so no werewolf is innocent? Because werewolves apparently kill each other all the time and your eye color morality meter doesn’t seem to think that’s bad.”

Scott puts his hands over his face and digs his fingers in his eyes. Allison knows what that meant, she knows Scott’s exhausted and too mixed up in his head to say things right. And if she knows, Stiles knows; he looks over at her, from his perch, and says, “What else does the bestiary say about packs and that shit? We need to find some weaknesses.”

Like how someone might take a pack, maybe? She doesn’t ask because she doesn’t want that conversation with Scott right now. “Let me look,” she says, and Isaac hands her her book bag before she can realize it’s out of reach. That paying attention thing again, it doesn’t seem to be something he can turn off. “Thanks,” she says. 

“Yep.” 

Allison starts to swipe through the pages, back to the parts about packs of wolves. In the silence, Stiles sat back down on his cushion now that Scott and him had reached a kind of detente. “Hey,” Stiles says. “We’ll figure out these stupid rules, we’ll finish all this shit, and then we’ll have a normal junior and senior year, okay. Except with you and Boyd and Isaac, we might actually have a good lacrosse season.” 

That gets Scott to snort out a laugh, at least. “Maybe,” he says. “Hard to make up for Greenberg.” And that sounds a lot more like the Scott they all know. It’s easier to move on. 

The information on the whole concept of packs is surprisingly sparse. Like, it’s mostly about the strategic benefits of it, how pack structures can be manipulated to kill better. How, for example, killing betas first would make it easier to kill their alpha. 

“Well,” Stiles says. “If Deucalion’s the alpha of alphas, he might lose power if he kill the others.” 

“I’m not killing anyone,” Scott says. 

So they keep looking. The thing, though, that they’re discovering is that the bestiary isn’t helpful about werewolves. It even seems like maybe the Argents before Allison hadn’t spoken to werewolves, because of the type of information in here is so incredibly basic.

“We can’t see through walls,” Isaac says, reading over her shoulder. 

“Uh, no way,” Scott agrees. 

“You can’t really run on all fours either, can you?” she asks. “How would that even work?” 

Isaac and Scott both shake their heads. 

“Interesting,” Allison says, and makes a note in the document. “Okay. You’d think someone would have corrected these inaccuracies before now. Can you talk to animals?” 

“No,” Scott says. “But sometimes Derek can… he has some connection with dogs and stuff sometimes? Like his alpha-ness works on them.” 

“I see,” Allison says, while Stiles aggressively puts his face in his hands. She makes a point of taking that note down like it makes sense, like this is all very normal information and they are making progress.

“We don’t target virgins,” Isaac points out. He’s leaning on Allison’s shoulder now; she’s been trying not to notice. “And we’re not weaker during the day.” 

“Okay,” Stiles says crossly. “What is the point of this guy? Spreading out all over everything and offering unhelpful little comments. Like, do we even have the room for him?” 

Allison notices then, suddenly, that Stiles is right. Isaac is definitely taking up something like three quarters of the whole couch, the weight of him passively pressing her against the arm. She hadn’t noticed. The pressure is almost comforting, honestly, like the weight of a quiver on her back or a .45 in her hand. But she’s just barely noticing when Isaac moves, retreating from her under the guise of sitting up straight to retort. 

“Well, I’m a werewolf,” Isaac says. “That’s probably most of the point.” 

Stiles makes a furious face, like actually mad, but Scott has moved on. “They want Derek because he’s an alpha,” he says. “So they’d want me too, for the same reasons.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Allison says. 

“Right, but what are those reasons?” Scott asks, knowing none of them have the answer. “Does having more alphas make him stronger?”

“What else could it be?” Isaac asks. He’s sitting with a good amount of space between him and her, now. 

“Pride,” Stiles says, to spite him. It’s also a good point. 

“Okay,” Allison says then. “So if he just wants you to give in, then he won’t be happy until you’re with him or dead.” 

Scott scrubs his hand over his face. “Yeah.” 

Allison looks at Isaac. “What have you heard from Derek?” she asks. “Does he have any ideas?” 

Maybe she shouldn’t ask him to dish on his alpha, but maybe that’s overthinking. “He’s caught up in his revenge fight club with Kali,” Isaac answers without hesitation. “And when he’s not doing that, he’s fighting hunters.” 

“Do we have a plan for that?” Allison asks. 

Stiles gives Scott a look which means something, and Scott throws his head back against the back of the couch and sighs. “If we stay out of their way,” Scott begins. 

“Oh, right, like hunters never come after people who’ve stayed out of their way,” Stiles counters. 

“They make an effort,” Scott says, and Allison’s heart throbs hard, hot and sharp in her chest because that’s a lie that everyone knows is one, but they don’t know how much. 

If her mother - or aunt, or grandfather, or shit even her father a year ago - were to walk in here, she knows without a doubt what they’d do. They’d shoot Scott first; closest to the back door, quickest threat. Two in the head. Even werewolves don’t come back from that. And then two more into Isaac’s head, and they’d probably have to kill Stiles too, she can’t picture him watching that happen passively. 

Her family cuts the heads off wolves, to make sure they’re dead. 

Isaac touches Allison’s arm, just like he did at school. It shouldn’t be a big deal. But Allison doesn’t process that that’s what happened until she’s got the knife from her ankle at his throat, him pressed into the couch, the room suddenly silent. 

She can fear Isaac’s heart beating, see his jugular pulsing. He’s holding his breath. But she doesn’t pull away. For some reason, she just doesn’t. It might feel good, to make him bleed. 

Scott darts over, moving with caution. He’s a weapon as much as he never looks like one, evolutionarily adapted for hurting her. He kneels next to the couch and says her name, looking at her with total trust. His hand is on Isaac’s shoulder. She can’t take her eyes off the contact. Scott says her name again. 

Isaac’s eyes haven’t left her either, she can feel him trying to make eye contact. She’s not sure he’s breathed yet, and she’s sitting on his stomach so she’d know if he had. And as she thinks that, Allison becomes more aware of her entire body, how Isaac has his hands on her, on her legs. Palms on her thighs. No claws. None on Scott either. He isn’t trying to pull her off.

At first, she doesn’t even realize when she relaxes; she sees it more in Isaac’s reaction. He inhales, and Scott nods, and Allison doesn’t pull back as much as she lets go. She releases the handle and the blade draws blood from his neck as it falls onto the couch. 

Things sort of happen outside of time. Scott gets her a glass of water, and Isaac gets up and paces, and she drinks the water looking at the knife on the coffee table. She didn’t move it. She wonders who did. 

“Um, just a quick question,” Stiles says. “We’re just… _not_ going to address how Allison almost killed Isaac?” 

“Again,” Isaac says quietly. 

Allison’s stomach is shriveling to nothing, guilt might kill her. But Scott has an answer. “That wasn’t Allison,” he says. “She wouldn’t do that.” 

“Well, she did. So.” Stiles throws his hands up. “Are we gonna talk about it?” 

The boys look at her, like she’s gonna know what to say. “I’m sorry,” she says, but that’s kind of more of a beginning than a conclusion. 

“It’s okay,” Isaac says. Another opening statement. But she doesn’t know what to say after that. She’s never tried to apologize for this, she’d be willing to bet nobody in her family has. The most they did last time was begin the conversation again, and never finish it. 

“Okay?” Scott asks Stiles. 

Stiles looks at Allison. He knows it’s not okay - he knows she’s not okay, too. It’s impossible for everyone not to know. But he just nods, deferring to Scott. “Can I check the bestiary for-” he starts, and Allison hands him the tablet without letting him finish. 

“Bathroom,” she says, and escapes to somewhere she can shut herself into. Maybe she should be in a jail cell. Maybe she should stay inside, with Dad, never leave the house again. She runs the faucet, and puts her hair up, and then sits on the toilet with her feet up and cries. Silently, Mom would be proud. 

“Allison,” Scott says outside the door, and knocks. But she can’t talk to Scott, so she buries her face in her arms. 

It’s a few more minutes before they try again. And then it’s not knocking, it’s Isaac opening the door and shutting himself in with her, leaning against the sink. He takes a visible deep breath. 

“What are you doing?” Allison says, her voice breaking twice. 

“I’m not mad,” he says. “About that.” 

“About…” 

“You almost slitting my throat.” He nods, and repeats, “I’m not mad.” 

Allison frowns. “You should be.” She wipes her face on her sleeve; it feels stupid to try and talk with her face so wet. “That was crazy.” 

“Stiles agrees.” 

“Stiles is smart.” 

“And I’m not?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Isaac nods again - he knows, he’s not bothered. “You weren’t in your right mind,” he says. “Right? You were having a flashback, or something.” 

“Yeah,” she says. “I think so. Were my vitals…”

“They went a little haywire,” Isaac says, and he smiles when she smiles, both alike in their surface-level benevolent insincerity. 

“That’s why you noticed.” 

He nods. “I just wanted to make sure.” 

“Make sure what, that I wasn’t going to stab you?” He shrugs looking at the floor. “And then I almost did stab you, anyways.”

Another shrug, which is a yes.

“And now you’re in here, somewhere that makes you uncomfortable, to try and tell me you’re not mad at me,” she says, and he doesn’t answer that one specifically. It feels uneasy. She doesn’t like Isaac being scared of her like this, trying to appease her so desperately. “You don’t have to… I’m not your dad,” she says on a hunch. 

Isaac laughs unexpectedly, sharp and short. “No, you’re not.” He looks up at her again, and she watches him unpack the layers of what he’s thinking about. “You’re saying I shouldn’t be okay with it,” he finally says. 

“Yes.” 

“Well, it’s my call. And I’m giving you a pass, based on all your dead relatives.” 

“Three,” Allison says. A few more tears spill over. “Only three dead relatives.” 

“Okay. So you’ve got one left,” Isaac says, and when Allison smiles it’s real this time. His answering smile is more real too. “I’m telling Scott to come in now,” he says then. “You should talk to him.” 

Allison frowns. “I know Scott,” she says, “I know when to talk to him.”

Isaac has mastered the most insolent shrugs in the world. “Okay,” he says. “You want that knife again?” As if she’d stab him for asking the wrong question. But she can’t say that’s not a fair question, not now.

She sighs at him, which makes his smile a little warmer. He gets the door then, lets it swing open while he looks at her. “I’m not doing this because of Dad,” he says. “I’m doing it for you.” And he leaves. 

Scott takes his place almost immediately, sitting against the cabinet to match her eye line. “Hey,” he says, and holds his hand out to her. She gives him hers, and he kisses her fingers. “I think there’s a lot about you I don’t understand,” he says. “But I’m listening, okay. I want to know.”

“I don’t know where to start,” Allison says. 

“It doesn’t have to be now. You can think about it. But I’m here.” 

Allison nods, and by unspoken agreement the two of them lean forward to meet in the middle for a hug. “I just…” she starts, and hesitates. “Sometimes I don’t know whose thoughts are in my head. If I’m afraid of you, or if my mom would want me to be.” 

“Are you? Afraid of us.” Scott asks. 

And him thinking she can know makes her sure. “No, I’m not,” she says, and pulls back to look him in the eyes. “And I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” 

Scott gives her the cutest little smile. “I forgive you,” he says explicitly. And that unlocks something in her chest, gives her some kind of permission she didn’t know she needed to actually feel forgiven. That’s what Isaac was saying, too. They’re forgiving her. That’s the end of the conversation they started earlier. 

“Okay,” she says. She could kiss him, it would feel right. But she doesn’t. She wants to take it slower this time, she wants to know her heart better, so she just lets him pull her up and take her back. 

It’s awful, to face Stiles like this, even with Scott at her back. She’s ready to not be offended at any joke he makes. Stiles is standing, pacing when she comes back, but he freezes at the sight of her and looks in her eyes. “Is that going to happen again?” he asks. 

“Maybe,” she says. “Probably.” 

“Then I think I’ll pass on sitting near you for a while,” Stiles says, and the total seriousness on his face makes that a little funny. Scott snorts.

“Fair enough,” she says. Isaac’s sitting back where he was before, the knife on the table in front of him. It feels weird to consider just sitting next to him again. “I can go, you can keep the bestiary. I think we’ve gotten anything helpful we would out of it, and Scott’s basically made his mind up so, until anything else happens…” 

Isaac cuts her off, or rather the expression on his face does. Open, and almost kind. “Sit down,” he says, and holds her knife out to her by the handle. “Come on.” 

“Masochist,” Stiles mutters. 

He’s probably onto something, Allison thinks, but she sits down anyways. She takes the knife back, too, awkwardly glancing at Isaac’s face as she does. “Thanks,” she says. 

“Yep.” 

Scott takes the seat closer on Allison’s other side and looks around at all of them. “Look,” he says. “I know these rules are bullshit, but. I’m going to have to figure out whatever logic they work under, because this is just my life now. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Let’s start by crossing out all the lies.” 

It’s a lot of work. Stiles actually takes the bestiary home with him to finish. “I have dinner with my dad tonight. And I have all my best ideas at 3am,” he says. 

“When your Adderall kicks in,” Isaac says agreeably. 

Stiles scowls at him. “You can’t make jokes about my brain chemistry.” 

“It’s not a joke, it’s a fact.” 

“Oh, a fact,” Stiles says. “Like the fact that you don’t belong here.” 

“Hey,” Allison frowned. 

“He’s not part of this,” Stiles says. “He’s literally part of another pack. Maybe Allison’s subconscious had the right idea.” 

Allison tenses at the mention, Scott glares, but Isaac just shrugs. “You want a shot?” he asks, his voice the strangest combination of friendly and confrontational. 

“Ha ha,” Stiles says crossly. “So funny. Yeah, why don’t we punch each other into submission. Let’s fall right into the problems that got us here, great idea. I’ll call you if I find anything.” 

“Bye,” Scott says for all of them, and Stiles shuts the front door behind him loudly. 

Isaac looks at Allison. “Are you staying for dinner?” 

“Um. I can.” She clears her throat. “I have to talk to my dad, to…” Allison looks at Scott then too, for permission maybe. 

“We’d love to have you,” he tells her. 

So she calls Dad. “Hello?” he says when he picks up. 

“Hi. I’m at Scott’s. I’m going to stay for dinner, so. Just letting you know. I’m safe, I’m with the boys.”

Dad’s silent for a second. “What boys?” 

“Just Scott and Isaac.” She can feel Isaac’s eyes on her. “Stiles was here, but he just left.”

“Alright.” Dad thinks for several seconds. “You armed?” 

That shouldn’t be his first question, but now isn’t the time to get into that. “Yeah.” 

“Okay. But I want them over here before the end of the week.”

“You want my friends to come over?” she says in surprise. “My werewolf friends.”

“I want to get to know the boys who my daughter’s spending time with, yes. Especially considering their… affliction. Invite Stiles too. And Lydia. Get the whole gang here.” 

“Fair enough,” Allison says after a second. She might be in shock. “Okay.”

“Alright. Be home by ten.” 

“Okay. Bye.” 

She hangs up and holds her phone against her chest, looking over at Scott. “Did you hear that?” 

“We’ll be there,” Scott says. “It can’t be worse than other dinners we’ve had, right?” 

That’s a pretty good point. She looks at Isaac next then. “Are you in?” 

He twitches one shoulder in a shrug. “Dinner dinner?” 

Allison kind of glares at him. “Can you clarify using more than one word multiple times, possibly?" 

“Like, sitting down and eating at a table. With silverware that's not plastic,” he says. 

She narrows her eyes at him. This dynamic feels like something she’s more familiar with. Her in charge. “Why are you scared of actual dinner?” she asks. 

Isaac frowns, then smoothes his face out and raises his eyebrows, overcompensating. Scott must be watching too; Isaac glances in his direction before answering. “I don’t know how much of your business that is. It’s… it’s just one of those things. That I’m not really a fan of.” 

Small places, things thrown, loud voices, family dinner. She doesn’t like how this list is being rounded out. It’s not like she doesn’t know already that his dad hurt him, but the scope is starting to be so much larger than she’d imagined. 

“You don't want to talk about it?” she says. 

“I don’t,” he agrees. 

Allison is too aware of Scott watching them, the way things went last time Isaac didn’t want to answer a question. “Okay,” she says. “Sure.” And drops it. 

Things are much more relaxed now that Stiles is gone. Scott spreads out on the couch, which Allison watches with a fond stare. He has this dumb boyish grace that she’s always been a sucker for. She loves him so much. Isaac stretches his legs out too, resting them on the table and almost off the other side. She’s definitely caged in now, but somehow this is it. This is the first moment Allison feels safe since her grandfather came to town. 

“So you two are friends now,” Scott says, looking at them with more than a hint of smugness. 

“I don’t know if we’re friends,” Isaac answers first. 

Allison catches herself making a face about it before she talks. “It’s only been a few weeks,” she tells Scott. “People don’t become friends that fast.” 

“It’s been more than a month, and you totally become friends that fast.” Scott crosses his legs over the arm of the couch. He’s grinning. “You like each other. You’re cool with each other.” 

“Acknowledging it makes it weird, Scott,” Allison smiles. “Take a hint.” 

Scott doesn’t stop smiling but he shuts his mouth about it. “Do you have any homework to do? You care if I play video games?” 

Allison shakes her head; efficiency is the Argent family watchword. She did it in study hall. 

“I do,” Isaac says. “But I don’t care.” 

So Scott gets up and turns everything on. He plays Mario 64, his old favorite, the game he goes back to for comfort and contentment. Tonight, it’s the latter, she thinks. He’s happy, in a weird way. Even with all the crazy shit happening. 

That makes Isaac relaxed. He sprawls out a little bit more, though it’s noticeable that he leans on his arm of the couch and keeps his head away from her now. It makes sense, it’s just smart. Allison relaxes too, lets Isaac’s knee rest against her leg. She texts Lydia, _Hey. Developments with Scott and alpha stuff. Can we talk?_

Lydia doesn’t text back within her usual five minutes. That’s fine. Not a big deal. Allison will stop by Lydia’s house on the way home if she doesn’t hear from her before then. But for the moment, she’s not going to panic. 

After a while, she gets up to get more coffee. She tries to cut between Scott’s couch and the coffee table, but Scott blocks her way with his foot and a little smile. “What?” she says. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

“I missed you too,” she says, keeping her voice impressively steady. “I feel like we’ve covered that before.” 

Scott reaches for her hand again and she lets him take it. He just holds it, which is okay because it’s Scott. The kindest person she knows, and the only person she’s ever believed to be unequivocally good. 

“Can I get my coffee now?” she says after a second. She feels like she almost has to clear her throat.

Scott nods again, smiling, and squeezes her hand before letting go. And he’s still probably the love of her life, so she ruffles his hair for a second, lacing her fingers in it like she used to, and she aches suddenly for how they used to be. It was so, so easy. She pulls her hand away and blinks hard; she will _not_ be crying over this. 

Isaac can tell she had a moment; when she sits down next to him again he looks at her for several seconds too long. “You can just say it,” she says. “Ask. When you want to.” 

“Ask what?” Scott says curiously. 

Isaac looks at her instead of answering, so she says, “If I’m okay.” 

“Why would you not be okay? You just went to the kitchen.” 

“Yeah, but my heartbeat probably jumped for a second, and he pays attention to that kind of thing. Especially since last time it happened, I almost killed him.” Allison looks at Isaac and repeats, “Just ask.” 

Isaac shrugs, pretending it doesn’t matter. “Are you okay?” 

Allison takes a second before answering. “I really am.”

“Okay.” He looks back down. 

“I’m okay too,” Scott speaks up. Not in an attention-seeking way, but in a team-building way. He wants to reassure Isaac too. 

It makes Isaac smile. “Good.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence then, Scott playing, Isaac doing his homework, and Allison alternating between scrolling through Facebook and watching the two of them. Her phone buzzes. Lydia. _OMG. Dish. Stiles said something about bad intel?_

There’s a lot to get into, there. A long text to compose and send. But in this immediate moment, she only has one fact to focus on. Lydia’s okay, so everyone’s okay. Allison’s safe. She can breathe. 

They settle on Friday, for dinner at the Argents. Not a school night so things could go late, with the added benefit of keeping the guys busy on a weekend night. The alpha pack always does more on weekends. She’ll gather everyone together after school and they’ll go to her house and it will be a normal, good night. 

Except then Allison gets detention. 

It’s not her fault. Harris has had it in for her since she mouthed off to him over Isaac, and Lydia isn’t in Chemistry for some reason. Allison’s just trying to ask Stiles if he knows where Lydia is. Somehow, that gets her detention. 

Well, ‘somehow’ is a dumb way to put it. She doesn’t stop talking when told to, and then tries to explain, and in the end she calls him sexist. So that’s how. 

“Just go without me,” she says. They’re all gathered at Scott’s locker after class, her on the left and Stiles and Isaac on the right. “I’ll tell Dad you’re coming. That way you can get all of the awkward male posturing out of the way early.” 

“Okay,” Scott nods. “But Allison-”

“I’ll text you when I find out where Lydia is,” Stiles cuts him off, holding Scott’s locker open by leaning on it. “I’m sure she’s just… at some academic decathlon or speech and debate thing. Emergency test prep.” 

If Lydia was at any of those things, Stiles would already know. “Okay,” Allison says. 

There’s a lull in the conversation, where she almost expects Isaac to say something. Like they’re making room for it. He’s looking at the ground, just listening. “Allison,” Scott says at last. “You don’t want to make a habit out of this.” 

“What?” she says innocently. 

“Detention.” 

Allison rolls her eyes. “I’ll be fine,” she says. “See you at home.” 

They all agree. It seems pretty clear in the moment. But when she gets out of detention, Isaac is waiting where he waited for her before, sitting on the floor of the hallway with his head back against the lockers. Allison crosses her arms at him as he stands up. “What are you doing here?” she says. 

“Waiting for a ride,” he says with a shrug. 

She can’t exactly deny him. Wouldn’t, anyways. “Well, c’mon then,” she says, and leads him out to her car. On the way she checks her texts - one from Jackson about a guy he started seeing, and one from Scott letting her know they’re there. Nothing from Lydia, who wasn’t in her last two classes, and nothing from Stiles who still must not know where she is. Or maybe Lydia’s at Allison’s house already, and Stiles forgot to text because he’s so obsessed with her. _On our way_ , she texts Scott back, and puts her phone away to drive. 

Isaac doesn’t say much; she doesn’t notice until she’s turning into her neighborhood and they’ve driven in silence until this point. She looks over at him then, finds him staring out the window and for once not paying attention to her. “Hey,” she says.

“Yeah.”

She opens her mouth and immediately discovers she doesn’t know how to say what she means. “Uh,” she says. “Are you, um.” 

He looks at her when she doesn’t continue. “What?” 

“Nothing, you’re just… you’re good with this?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Allison makes a dramatic frowny face. “Well. Asking means I’m already worrying.”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you not to,” Isaac says. “So you can pretend you’ve stopped, now.” 

“You sound just like Lydia,” she says to him crossly. 

Isaac’s strangely pleased by that. He smiles, as she pulls into the driveway. “You calling me a genius?” he says. 

They unbuckle their seatbelts and get out before she has a good answer. And even then it’s not great. “Well,” she says. “Or a plagiarist.” But Isaac smiles like that’s funny and waits for her to lead him inside. Probably a good call. Dad won’t shoot her on accident. 

Scott and Stiles are in the kitchen with Dad already, working on dinner. After the chorus of hellos, Stiles says, “Is Lydia with you?” 

“No,” Allison says. “She’s not here?” She checks her phone even though she already knows what she’ll find; no new text. 

Stiles shakes his head. “She’s probably just late,” he says. But Allison knows Scott’s best friend well enough to know when he’s lying. He’s scared, and she can’t even just say he’s being irrational because she’s scared too. Lydia’s not answering texts and going silent for hours and now she’s disappeared, again. The last time she disappeared, she found someone Jackson had killed. 

Allison isn’t going to do that now, though. She’s having a good, normal dinner. Lydia is just running late, people run late all the time. “What are you making? It smells good,” she says. 

Dad’s been listening to this all with interest. It’s almost stranger for him to be listening and not totally zoned out. “Aligot, steak, and mixed veggies,” he says. 

Isaac looks at Allison for explanation. She says, “Dad, tell him what aligot is. Like, intense mashed potatoes?” 

Dad nods. “Boiled and mashed potatoes, mixed with creme fraiche and butter and cheese. I know I’m feeding werewolves,” he says with a faint smile. “I’m making heavy-duty food.”

“That sounds great, sir,” Isaac says. 

Scott and Stiles frown at him and then each other - this is not the Isaac they’re familiar with. Before they can say anything though, Dad sets down the metal spoon in his hand on the counter with a loud clank. Isaac jumps, starts again when Dad turns around to face him. “Okay,” Dad says. “Enough with the sirs. You can call me Chris. Or you can just talk to me, and not call me anything.” 

“Oh,” Isaac says after a second. 

“I appreciate the respect, but really. It’s fine.” 

Isaac nods, and he does take a step closer to Allison, slightly behind her. “Okay.” 

“Alright. Do you like spinach?” 

Isaac is taken aback; he glances at Allison for confirmation. “Um. Yes?” 

“You’re making the salad. Both of you. There’s a lot to chop.”

Always giving orders. Allison doesn’t mind; she opens the fridge and gets out all the veggies she can see - spinach and carrots and red onions, and Dad has chickpeas in a colander that looks relevant. She puts them all on the counter and then looks back at Isaac. “C’mon,” she prompts, and he comes, glancing at her dad on the way. “I’ll peel carrots if you chop onions,” she says. 

“Sure.” 

“Make them thin,” Dad says, and Isaac nods. 

With great care, Isaac picks a knife out of the block, and Allison picks up the peeler. It’s stupid, how this makes her uneasy, how her instincts are telling her she needs a knife in her hand too. Dad wouldn’t let anything happen to her, or Scott, or even Stiles. She knows her heartbeat must be increasing, slowly but steadily, but Isaac doesn’t say anything. He doesn't even look up until he finishes the onion. 

“Uncomfortable?” he asks then. 

“No.” 

She can't tell for certain if he knows she’s lying, even with a glance up at him. He’s moved onto the spinach, cutting the pile into strips and putting it into the bowl. Scott says something that makes Stiles loudly correct him. 

Allison blinks, and for a moment she can’t stop thinking about what she’d do if someone came in, guns firing or claws out. Or if someone in the room turned on everyone else. She has a knife on her ankle she could use if she needs to, if his hand closes the distance between them and grips her hand or arm or throat. She blinks then, and shivers, because she hasn’t thought like that since her mom died, those kind of distinct heart-stopping flash-forwards of what feels like the future. 

She jumps at a hand on her shoulder, but it’s just Isaac. He pulls back quickly. Before she can stab him, her mind supplies helpfully. “Hey,” he says. 

Her heartbeat is pounding in her ears, but it takes too long for her to realize that’s how he could tell. It’s like the last two months didn’t even happen; she remembers it now, as she’s looking at him. “Fine," she says. “I’m fine.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah." To prove it, Allison turns around to ask Dad how small to cut up the carrots. Dad’s just smiling at the steaks he’s seasoning, listening to Scott and Stiles talk about lacrosse. He’d know by her face most of what she’s feeling. So Allison decides to let it be for a second. 

“Isaac,” Scott says. “You’re gonna play next year, right?” 

“Yeah, if you want,” Isaac says. 

“Great.” Stiles gestures with his potato masher. “I’ll _never_ get to play.” 

“No,” Isaac says. “But we’ll win.” Him and Scott share a kind of smirk, a sweet and sharp kind of one. Allison gets a sudden sense of electricity and remembers that there are two predators in the room. This would be the time to have a panic attack, if Allison was picking times, but she feels even. Steady.

“Yeah, right,” Stiles says with withering sarcasm. “Winning is all that matters, huh.” 

Scott tilts his head at Stiles. “Since when does winning not matter to you?” he says. 

“Principles,” Stiles says with another emphatic gesture, “have always mattered more to me. I’ll have you know. I’m a man of principles.” 

“Is that what they call it?” Isaac says, his tone dangerously neutral.

“What are you, unfamiliar with the concept? Was that something your dad skipped over as he raised you? A little too busy with the freezer thing?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Isaac begins, setting down his knife. Dad turns to look at him, intrigued by that, which Allison notices with amusement. Only a werewolf would set down a knife to get in a fight. 

“Guys,” Scott says warningly. And what Allison notices is how Stiles and Isaac both listen to him, falling silent suddenly. 

“How do you all want your steaks?” Dad says out of nowhere. As they’re all answering, Allison sort of separates from the moment for a second. She thinks about the improbability of Dad having the guys over for dinner in any other timeline. He wouldn’t be here with her, taking care of them. Scott wouldn’t be smiling. 

As she notices it, like observing it ruins it, Scott frowns. He shuts his eyes tight, scrunching up his whole face with intense wince. “Jeez,” he says, and covers his ears. It takes Allison a second to notice that next to her, Isaac is doing the same thing.

“Lydia,” Scott says, opening his eyes again. 

“What?” Allison demands. 

“What about her?” Stiles says.

“It sounded like…” he begins, and hesitates.

And then Allison’s phone rings. It’s Lydia, a picture she took of herself on Allison’s phone filling the screen. Allison picks up. “Hello?”

“Allison.” The sound of Lydia’s voice sends her stomach sinking; it’s shaking, panicked. “I don’t know what happened, I don’t remember how I got here but I… I was just… I was at my house and I ended up somewhere downtown and someone’s… I can tell when people are going to die.” 

“What?” Allison wipes her hands off on a dishtowel. They’re shaking. “Who, who is it?” 

“I don’t know. Last thing I remember I was in my room, but now I’m here and there’s someone dead.” 

“Dead? Who’s dead?” 

Everyone looks at her sharply, and Allison shrugs at them. Lydia’s saying, “I don’t know. The police are here-“ 

“Why are the police there?” 

“My dad?” Stiles stage-whispers. Allison cuts him off with a glare, and Stiles pulls out his phone to text furiously.

“They just got here, I don’t know,” Lydia says, her voice shaking again. “But.”

“What?” Allison prompts after a second. 

“I knew he was dead before I saw him. But I don’t know how I know that.”

Allison feels cold all over. Her face must do something, because Dad puts down his spatula. “I’ll come get her,” he says. “Tell her.” Allison raises her eyebrows, and he nods, confirming it. 

“Lydia, my dad will come pick you up. Where are you right now?”

“I’ll drop a pin.” 

“Okay. Dad’s on his way,” Allison says. “I love you. Bye.” 

“Bye.” 

Allison hangs up and checks - Lydia sends the pin immediately, and Allison forwards it to Dad. She explains as she does. “She said someone’s dead, the cops are there, and she had some sort of psychic… premonition about it.” 

Dad’s examining his phone. “This is where some of the hunters are staying,” he says, and with the same pointless inflection, “Scott, finish the steaks.” He heads towards his office then, and there’s some sort of commotion. A moment later, she hears the front door open and shut, and Dad’s gone. 

Scott scoots over to the pan and picks up the spatula with purpose. “Well,” he says. “At least she’s okay, I guess.” 

“Hold on. _Is_ she okay? Though?” Stiles asks. 

“I don’t know. I can’t…” Allison shakes her head. “I couldn’t tell.” 

“Found a dead body,” Isaac says. “I don’t know how okay she could be.” 

The look on Stiles’ face can only be described as the most reluctant agreement in possibly the entire world. “Yeah,” he says after a second. “That’s my point.” Somehow, he makes that sound antagonistic. 

“What did you hear?” Allison asks Scott. “Right before she called, you heard something. What was it?” 

Scott shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “It sounded like…” He looks at Isaac, who finishes the sentence for him. 

“Screaming.”

Allison makes accidentally eye contact with Stiles, and they share a second of total mind meld. Lydia and Allison are best friends, no question, but there’s also no doubt in her mind that Stiles cares about Lydia nearly as much. A strong second. He’s the only one that understands how she feels right now. And for some reason, that’s more than Allison can take - understanding, when she doesn’t even really understand every facet of herself. She has to get out of here. 

“I’m going to wait outside,” she says, and goes.

It’s cold out, and in her haste to escape she forgets a coat. She barely jammed her feet in a pair of boots. She can’t go back in, either, because she can practically feel how worried Scott is from all the way out here, and if she goes back in, he’ll be all over her. That’s the last thing she can handle right now, someone asking if she’s okay.

Obviously, she’s not okay. Lydia, her best friend, is going through something with the highest stakes, literally life or death, and Allison can’t do anything to help her. Like she actually doesn’t know what to do. What is the right response when your best friend is having visions of death and doesn’t want to talk about it? Or maybe Lydia really does want to talk about it, and Allison’s been too crazy to notice. Maybe she’s been a bad friend about this, and Lydia just hasn’t said anything because of the whole dead mom thing. But Lydia would say something. Or normal Lydia would. Maybe this Lydia wouldn’t. 

She’s not making any real progress or coming to any conclusions, just running these things in circles when the front door opens, and Isaac comes out. He has a thick cardigan with him for her. He holds it out to her, and she puts it on quickly, wrapping it tight around herself. Then he crosses his arms and leans against the wall with her, prepared to stay. 

“Didn’t ask for company,” she says. 

“Do you ever?” 

She turns to give him an astonished and angry look. “I didn’t ask for your commentary on the situation, either.” 

“Didn’t ask for a cardigan either,” he points out. 

Allison crosses her own arms and glares straight ahead. “You can go.” 

“Thanks for the permission.” 

“What are you doing?” she demands, turning to look at him. “I came out here clearly to be alone, and you come and try to piss me off?” 

He stares at her for a second. Not like she’s prey, though her brainstem recognizes that could the case. More like she’s said something he’s never thought about before. “I’m not trying to-” he starts to say. 

“I’m just upset,” she cuts him off. “Let me be upset.” 

“Okay.” He sounds alarmed. Werewolves like solutions, they don’t like an absence of action. She’s hoping he’ll get uncomfortable enough to give up and go back inside, but instead he just stays where he is. Allison looks straight ahead again and tries not to clench her teeth. Her best friend is losing her mind, she doesn’t need this.

She did, however, need the cardigan. “Thanks,” she says when she can’t help herself. “For the sweater.”

“Yeah.”

It’s a pretty long wait. Long enough for her anger to fade. She’s cold, when she’s not mad anymore. And Isaac, like Scott, radiates warmth at all times. So, slowly, she shuffles a step over and when he doesn’t react, she leans on his arm. He doesn’t say anything or move. He’s warm, and there. 

There’s something to this. How Scott knew to let her be alone, and Isaac knew he shouldn’t. It makes her feel insane, that they could both be so right. But maybe it’s okay to be a little crazy right now. Maybe it’s just enough that she has both of them doing everything they can to help her. 

When Dad pulls in, Allison doesn’t wait for the car to totally stop before she opens the passenger side door. “Hey,” she says, and that’s as far as she gets before Lydia hugs her so tightly it’s hard to breathe. Allison holds her back, like she can shield her with her body from what she’s becoming. “We’ll figure this out,” Allison says eventually. “I promise.” 

And Lydia doesn’t say anything at all. 

Isaac keeps his distance without needing to be told to; he and Dad follow at a distance as Allison gets Lydia inside. “What do you need?” Allison asks. “What can I get you?” 

Lydia shakes her head infinitesimally, so Allison just takes her to the couch sits next to her. Stiles is right behind them, sitting on Lydia’s other side and keeping his mouth shut. “I saw a dead body,” Lydia says eventually, her voice wobbling. 

“A hunter,” Dad says. He, Scott, and Isaac are standing in the room too, giving them space. “The alphas killed a hunter.” 

“We heard you screaming,” Scott says. “It sounded loud.” 

“I have great lung capacity,” Lydia says a bit of a dreamy voice. 

“Do we have any idea what’s happening to her?” Isaac asks nobody in particular. 

“Just that she keeps predicting deaths,” Stiles says. “And I have no idea which supernatural creature that could be.” 

Lydia moved then, turned to look at him. “Seriously? You haven’t figured that out yet?” 

“You _have_?” Dad says in surprise. He’s definitely speaking for all of them. 

And Lydia just looks around at the room, and with the same attitude that she uses to tell Stiles he’s forgotten the homework, says, “Um. I’m a banshee, obviously.” 

There is a moment of total silence. Obviously, Stiles breaks it. “Oh. My _god_. You totally are.” 

“I know,” Lydia says in irritation, and looks at Allison. “Don’t be mad I didn’t tell you.” 

“How long have you known?” Allison asks. 

“A couple months.” 

“ _Months?_ ” It wasn’t Allison that said this, but Stiles. “And you didn’t say anything?” 

“No.” Lydia looks at Allison again. “Don’t be mad,” she says, her tone a little closer to apologetic. 

“I’m not,” Allison says. She can be helpful now, they have a name she can research. “We need to check the bestiary.”

“I already have,” Lydia says. “Banshees belong to a family, and wail or scream when a member of that family dies, or when death is coming. They’re connected with the energy of their family, as best the Argents can tell. But the things happening to me don’t exactly fit the model.” 

Stiles starts to get up. “I have the tablet in my car,” he begins. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lydia says, and pulls out a binder decorated with colorful tape. “I printed this out just in case. More reliable.” She gives it to Stiles and gives the rest of them her patented innocent look and a shrug. Only Lydia, Allison reflects, would be able to play dumb about her own supernatural status. 

Scott snaps his fingers. “Oh,” he says. “Hey. Didn’t this all start when Peter bit you?” 

If Peter wasn’t dead, Allison would kill him. She might try and kill him all over again, if only she could stomach being in the Hale house. 

“Yeah,” Lydia says. “Around then.” 

“Well, are banshees usually like, activated by the bite of an alpha?” Scott asks. 

“It doesn’t say anything about that,” Stiles says, reading intently. 

“So maybe you’re different,” Scott shrugs. 

Lydia nods. “Great,” she says. “Even among the freaks, I’m a freak. What’s for dinner? I hope you didn’t eat without me.” 

“We haven’t,” Dad says. Allison knows she should say something, but can’t quite work out what she’d say. 

“Good.” Lydia looks at her. “Lend me a change of clothes? Then we can eat.” 

“Okay,” Allison says. She doesn’t know what else to do. It feels so supremely useless, to just take Lydia’s orders. Argent women are meant to be leaders. But she’s better than the Argent women that came before her, she can take orders well. She helps Lydia up and they squeeze around Stiles, who’s poring over the pages of Lydia’s bestiary. 

“Who’s dead?” Isaac asks Dad in an undertone, when the girls are on the steps. Allison doesn’t listen for the answer. 

She gets Lydia a sweatshirt and a pair of soft leggings, hands them to her and then goes to leave the room and give her privacy. “Allison,” Lydia says then, hesitant. 

Allison turns back, and finds her best friend looking at her with an expression she doesn’t recognize. Fear, maybe, apologetic, and unsure. “I wanted to tell you,” Lydia says. “I just… I didn’t know how. You know, in a way it’s almost worse, because that’s like a part of an answer but not enough of one.” 

“Any amount of an answer is better than thinking you were just… thinking I was losing someone again,” Allison finally says with a grimace, knowing how that will make Lydia feel. 

“I’m sorry,” Lydia says so quickly. 

“I know, I’m not… I get it.” 

“It’s okay if you’re mad at me,” Lydia declares as fact. “I know you’ll get over it eventually.” But there’s a second of a shiver in her smile. Maybe she doesn’t know. One of the first things ever that she doesn’t know.

Allison comes back to hug her. “Just tell me. Is there anything else I need to know?” she says, trying to make it a joke.

“I’m gay,” Lydia says into Allison’s shoulder. “If you weren’t already..” 

Allison pulls back and stares at her. “Really?” 

Lydia nods, getting all prim again. “What do you think my summer of me was about, babe?” she inquires. 

“Getting over Jackson!” Allison says in bewilderment. 

“There was _nothing_ to get over there,” Lydia says firmly, and pulls the leggings on under her skirt. “Besides the fact that he was killing people and apparently a lot more insecure than we knew.”

Allison leans against the wall; her mind is spinning. “So you… you’re gay. You’ve been seeing… girls.” 

“Yep.” Lydia turns her back to change into the sweatshirt too. “I told Stiles,” she adds then. Her bra is coral. Is that weird for Allison notice? She doesn’t know the rules anymore. “But only because it was kind of… directly relevant to him. I mean, not like I owed him the reason I’m not interested in him, but I think he deserves to know it’s not about him. He’s great.” 

“Well,” Allison says in a high voice before she can stop herself. She doesn’t totally mean it, and she only worries about it for a second before Lydia snorts. So then Allison snorts, and Lydia turns back around in Allison’s sweatshirt and looks at her with something Allison can only call total love. “I’m not mad at you,” Allison tells her, and means it. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” Allison says, and she hugs her again. “Let’s eat.” 

When they get downstairs, the boys are setting the table. Stiles immediately accosts Lydia to run over the various different banshee points he’s found to discuss, so Allison leaves them to it and goes to fill up glasses with Scott. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” she echoes. 

“Is she okay?” 

“Yeah, she’s surprisingly fine. Maybe being a banshee means the whole dead body thing is less traumatic.” 

Scott huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I hope so.” They each take three glasses through to the dining room. Isaac follows, carrying the big bowl of aligot. “Allison,” Scott says then. “Are you?” 

“Okay?” Allison asks, and he nods. She tries not to be self conscious at the feel of Isaac’s eyes on her too. “Uh. I’m fine, I think. I’m good. I’m just…” There aren’t words for this. She almost feels like it’s better to know that Lydia’s known what’s going on all along. Lydia knowing is normal. 

And the thing she loves about Scott is how he gets that sometimes things are just beyond talking. He holds his arms out, and she lets herself fall into them. Scott always takes care of her. “I’m here,” he says. Like Isaac said in his own way outside. 

“Ew,” Lydia says as she comes in the room. “Break it up, losers.” She physically separates them, and then sits between them, pushing Scott to the end of the table. Isaac sits on Scott’s other side, which makes Stiles very annoyed at having to sit between Isaac and Dad. He and Isaac bicker over switching seats until Dad comes out, and then they leave it. They get a little busy with piling food onto their plates - for being a normal human, Stiles eats almost as much as the other two boys and while talking most of the time. Everybody talks all over each other, and harasses each other and generally makes a fuss. And Lydia said that banshees belong to families. Tonight, Allison puts together one thing on her own; she knows exactly who Lydia’s family is.

Lydia has a feeling. That’s what they’re calling it with other people around. She just has a feeling that the rest of them take extremely seriously. “I see you guys all at some motel, and I smell death and I know something’s going to happen,” she says at the lunch table. 

“A motel,” Boyd repeats. 

“We’re going to a cross-country meet this weekend,” Scott volunteers. “Do you think it’s something about that?” 

“But it’s not an overnight trip,” Stiles says. “We wouldn’t stay anywhere.” 

Allison and Lydia make eye contact, and Allison can really tell that Lydia means it. “Okay,” Allison says. “So we’ll come to the meet.” Isaac frowns at her from the other side of the table, and she frowns back. “What, is that unheard of?” 

“Nobody comes to cross-country meets,” Isaac says. 

“Okay, but it’s not forbidden,” Lydia says. “So. We’re coming.” 

Stiles sighs with his whole body. “And what if it’s not this, what if it’s some other trip we end up on? What are you, not gonna let us out of your sight?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Allison says, with a confrontational look at first Scott and then Isaac. Scott doesn’t have a problem with it. Isaac objects a little more. 

“If someone’s gonna die,” he says, just to Allison when everyone else has moved on, “why do you want to be there? You should stay away.”

“And let you guys face whatever’s happening alone?” Allison demands. 

“Well,” Isaac says, “you could pretend to consider it for a second.” 

Lydia tunes back into their conversation long enough to offer her two cents. “Please. Allison considered it and dismissed it before you finished speaking. No good relationship is built on faking it,” she says firmly, and then turns to ask Scott a question. 

There’s a half a second of an awkward pause. “I think she just said we’re in a relationship,” Isaac says then. 

Allison can’t look at him. “Or she said I’m faking it,” she says. “I’ve gotta get to my locker before Geometry, see you later.” She stands up and pulls her bookbag off the table, dumps the rest of her lunch in the trash on the way out.

Because she’s particularly conscious of it, she manages to keep her vital signs in check through some targeted deep breathing, as she walks through the halls. She’s moving vaguely toward her locker, but mostly she just wants to get away because she sort of just realized, somehow, that she likes Isaac. It took so long because it feels different than what it felt like with Scott. It’s more tense, more reluctant. Liking Scott was, and is, as easy as breathing. With Isaac, it’s a fight. She never thought she’d like a fight. 

It’s a three hour drive to the meet, and Lydia and Allison have to follow in a car. Honestly, Allison’s glad for the space. She drives and Lydia navigates, their proven dynamic on many other car trips. 

“They’re going the wrong way,” Lydia says. “It’d be faster if we got off here and took the-”

“Babe,” Allison says. 

Lydia cuts herself off with a sigh. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll drop it. I’m sure the bus driver knows what he’s doing.” 

“Or at least, doesn’t have access to four different map apps that he cross-references,” Allison says with a smile. “It’ll be fine. We’re not in any rush. We’re just following them.” 

“Right,” Lydia says. “And hoping they don’t end up at a motel.” She takes a bracing deep breath; it takes being her best friend to be able to hear the shiver in it. 

Allison looks over at her while the road allows it. “Why do I sort of have the feeling we’ll end up at a motel no matter what?” she asks. “I mean, you don’t tend to see things that don’t happen, right?” 

“Well, not so far. But we also haven’t tried to stop it.” 

“Is there any myth about being able to stop what a banshee senses?” 

Lydia’s lack of answer means a no. “We’re not a particularly well-studied supernatural creature,” she begins. 

“Because you’re mostly women,” Allison suggests, and Lydia makes a face that acknowledges that as a very strong possibility. “We _want_ them to end up at a motel,” Allison says then. “We want that while they’re with us, sowe can defend them.” 

“Yeah, I _guess_ ,” Lydia says. “If I can’t stop it entirely.” 

If anyone could circumvent fate through willpower alone, it’s her best friend. Allison almost believes they’re doing it, for a while. They sit in the grass by the bus while everyone runs. Lydia works on her college applications. Allison pours over the bestiary, looking for anything that might be helpful as she works on adding a functioning table of contents with shortcuts to the relevant portions of the text. 

The boys finish their run and pile back on the bus, sweaty and disgusting. Allison and Lydia are very grateful for their separate car, and they’ve just settled in for the drive when the bus starts smoking. So that’s less than ideal. 

“Why aren’t they stopping?” Lydia asks, her voice verging on hysterical. Allison’s nearly positive Stiles is saying the exact same thing in the bus; she thinks she sees some hysterical gesturing through the bus windows. 

And then Lydia falls silent, because the bus pulls into the next driveway and that driveway leads to a motel parking lot, set back from the road. They’d passed it on the way to the meet without noticing. This is what Lydia had seen, they both know without having to say anything, and Allison’s stomach is sinking by the second. 

They park and get out to join the team. Erica’s first off the bus looking for them, and then Isaac and Boyd. The twins are off too, but they keep to themselves. Stiles and Scott are last. “This is it, right?” Scott says for everyone. “The motel.”

Lydia nods. Erica’s sticking close to her, chewing on her cuticles, her teeth a little sharper than they should be. 

“Great,” Stiles says, throwing his arms up. “Fantastic. Any idea who’s in danger? Any chance it’s Tweedledee or Tweedledum?” 

“I don’t know,” Lydia says, and tilts her head for a second. “I hear something, it’s like… whispers. I can’t make them out. They’re preparing for something.” 

“We can prepare too. I’ll make sure we get rooms next to each other,” Scott says, and goes to talk to Coach with Stiles.

Isaac moves into his spot next to Allison, looming in a hesitant kind of way. “Boyd,” he says, “you and me?” 

“Works for me,” Boyd nods. His normally even demeanor is shaken. They all are, honestly. Allison has her arms crossed to keep her hands from trembling. 

Erica looks between Lydia and Allison. “Can I stay with you?” she asks. “I don’t want to be with one of the randos.” 

“Yeah,” Allison says, and Lydia nods again. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Oh,” Isaac says. “So you’re familiar with the concept of gratitude.” 

“Drop it,” Erica snarls at him. Isaac flips her off, and Boyd rolls his eyes. This seems like the kind of thing that happens a lot, with them. Erica just hugs Lydia from behind, hooking her chin over Lydia’s shoulder. More surprising is that Lydia lets her. It makes Allison ache. She used to be comfortable like that. Not tense and suspicious and unable to have a fucking crush without feeling like a basket case. 

Which, speaking of which. Isaac prods her shoulder with two fingers. “Hey,” he says. 

“I’d appreciate the space to just think shit for once,” Allison snaps, startling away from him. “We’re all a little tense right now, okay, you don’t have to babysit me. I’m getting our room,” she adds to Lydia, and takes off. 

Their rooms are in a corner on the upper floor, two next to each other and one more around the corner. The rest of the cross country team is downstairs beneath them except for Coach who’s in a room alone, the location of which he refuses to disclose to anyone. That’s probably smart. 

“This place has something going on,” Allison says once the girls’ room door is shut behind them. It feels extremely flimsy. “They had numbers on the wall in the front office. Supposedly, twenty nine people committed suicide here in the last year.” 

“That’s more than two a month,” Lydia says, her eyebrows drawing together.

“Yeah.” Allison unrolls her weapons to check on her knives, and starts to stow some extra ones on her person, in pockets and in holsters she buckles on now. 

Erica frowns. “Wait. What’s the name of this place?” 

“Sterling Motel,” Lydia says, her voice just a whisper. 

“So do we know a Sterling?” Erica looks around for an answer, but neither of the other girls have one. 

“This is infuriating,” Lydia says after a second. “I need Stiles. C’mon.” And she strides out of the room, much faster than anyone in four inch boots should be able to. 

“I’m staying here,” Erica says, flopping on the bed. “If anything wants me, it’s welcome to try.” 

Allison frowns. “Don’t say that,” she says.

“I’m a wolf, sweetie,” Erica scoffs. “I can handle myself, don’t worry.” 

“I wasn’t,” Allison retorts waspishly, and grabs her keycard to follow Lydia out. She does regret snapping once she’s outside, but by then it’s too late. Besides, even moreso than Isaac, Erica’s kind of immune to getting her feelings hurt. That’s both great and irritating. 

The first door around the corner is open, and she can hear Stiles as she approaches. “I’m just saying, you barge into our room, you _demand_ my attention.” Allison steps through the doorway to find him holding his phone away from Lydia. “Give me a second! I’m texting him back.” 

“Him who?” Allison closes the door behind her. This room looks basically identical to the girls’ room, only the carpet is different. Scott is nowhere to be seen. 

“Derek,” Lydia says with great exasperation. 

Allison raises her eyebrows as high as they go. “What the fuck? Why are you texting Derek?”

“Because! Technically he’s texting me, if you want to-” Stiles gets distracted by responding, and Lydia and Allison share a glance. “Just let me send this, and… okay. Done. He gets weird if I don’t answer.” 

“Sounds like a him problem,” Lydia says pertly. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Oh yes, everybody hates Derek. Let’s all pile on.” 

“He bit my mom, so I think some piling on is deserved,” Allison says, and Stiles doesn’t have a comeback for that. Good. That feels good. 

“What is he even saying?” Lydia asks. 

“He’s busy completely misinterpreting the extended Star Wars universe,” Stiles said, texting again. He sounds almost like he finds that endearing. “It’s fine. We’re just…” 

Lydia looks between him and his phone several times, eyes sharp. Then, she snatches his phone. “Stop,” she says, tucking it into her back pocket. “You’re not texting Derek.” 

“If I don’t answer he’ll be so pissy with me! And the man can hold a grudge, I’m talking weeks.” 

“I don’t care,” Lydia shrugs, so Stiles looks at Allison for support. 

“There shouldn’t be consequences for you having a life,” she tells him.

Stiles rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. Everything he’s thinking is always on his face, so they can see as he considers their points and then reluctantly realizes they’re right. “Well,” he says then. “Okay. That does sound… ultimately, like a reasonable point.” 

“Okay. So now that we’re done fixing your love life,” Lydia begins, and Stiles attempts to argue that point but she will not be stopped. She continues louder. “I need your help.” And that stops Stiles in his tracks. 

“ _That’s_ something I’ve never heard before,” Stiles says. “What’s wrong, does Erica need a back massage or something? Because in that case, put me in, Coach.” He rolls a shoulder, demonstrably ready. 

Lydia rolls her eyes so hard she appears to be knocked off balance, and Allison answers for both of them. “Can you relax?” she demands. 

“I’m relaxed!” Stiles insists, with his shoulders around his ears. 

“You are never relaxed, and even for you, you’re tense,” Allison says with a frown, as she notices all of that. “What, do you actually like him?” 

“Definitely not. I do not like the guy who’s pretty directly the reason your mom’s dead. That would the behavior of a bad friend. And I would never. And that’s gross. So.” He glances over at her then, to check and see if she’s seen through him - which, she obviously has. But she loves him, so she tries to choke back her first reaction. 

“I’m not… that’s, whatever,” Allison says, and looks at Lydia to pick back up on what she’s saying, but Lydia’s gaze is absent. “Hey,” Allison says, and Stiles snaps into paying attention. “Lydia, do you hear something?” 

Lydia doesn’t answer, she tilts her head and her eyes are fastened on the ceiling. “It sounds like…” she says in a whisper. “Someone saying jump.”

“What?” Allison demands. She follows Lydia’s gaze but doesn’t see anything, of course. Just the white popcorn ceiling, and a ceiling vent. 

“Jump,” Stiles repeats, and something clicks for him. “Scott. Where’s Scott?” He runs to the bathroom to check - no one in there. 

“He left when I came in,” Lydia says dreamily. 

Stiles grabs Lydia’s shoulder, holding tightly. “Lydia,” he says. “Get us onto the roof.” 

She directs them unerringly. Outside, down the hall to an unlocked door - unlocked only because the lock seems to be broken, pulled apart - and then up the stairs and to the right. And standing there, on one of the ends of the wings of the building right on the very edge, is Scott. 

“Scott,” Lydia says in a whisper. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, and approaches Scott warily. He stops just a few steps behind him. “What are you doing, buddy? Get away from the edge.” 

Scott doesn’t move. His voice carries, so Allison can hear him where she’s standing, several yards back. Lydia’s holding her hand. Allison can’t make herself move. She should say something, or say something, or fuck, just go pull Scott away from the edge so they can figure everything else out. But she can’t make herself move. 

“Go away, Stiles,” Scott says. “You don’t have to see this.” His shadow stretches long, back towards Allison. She wants to hold onto it. 

“Don’t say that,” Stiles says. “There’s nothing to see, you’re gonna come back downstairs with us. Okay? Come on, don’t do something dumb.” 

Scott turns to face Stiles. His foot is so close to the edge, Allison can’t breathe. They can hear him better. “All that’s dumb is me being alive,” Scott says. “I’m putting the people I care about in danger. It’d be better if I wasn’t here.” He’s crying. He takes a shaky deep breath. 

“Don’t say that,” Stiles says. “Scott, please. You’re my brother. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” And when Scott doesn’t answer, stays teetering on the edge of the roof, Stiles reaches out and wraps Scott up in a hug. “If you’re going over, I’m going with you,” Stiles says. 

That’s all it takes for Scott to step back, and hang onto Stiles so tightly. “I love you, man,” he says. 

“You don’t really want to kill yourself, do you?” Stiles asks, his voice breaking, and Allison thinks of Stiles’ mom. Everyone has to be thinking that, though. Lydia’s hand is so tight around Allison’s. 

“I don’t know… I don’t know,” Scott says, his voice muffled. His face is still pressed against Stiles’ shoulder. “I’ve never thought about it before, but all of a sudden, it just… it felt like the only thing to do.” 

“Come on,” Stiles says, “let’s get inside.” 

“Hold on,” Lydia whispers, and looks at Allison and squeezes her hand and then relaxes. “Twenty-nine suicides.”

“Shit,” Allison says. “So why don’t I want to kill myself? Why don’t you? Or Stiles, why is it only affecting wolves unless-” 

“Sterling,” Stiles says, pointing at her. “As in Argent, as in-” 

“Fucking silver,” Allison says, and already has her phone out to call her dad. She paces the length of the roof until Dad picks up. “Hey,” she says. “Is there a hunter motel around here?”

Dad hesitates for a fraction of a second. “There’s…” he starts, and Allison clenches her jaw. 

“Shit,” Stiles says. “I know that jaw twitch.” He gets Scott down onto the ground and kneels next to him, keeps an arm around him. 

“…something, but they’re not ours,” Dad says. “Hunters of their own kind. You should steer clear of that place, they’re not quite right.” 

Allison lets out a brief sigh. “Too late for that. We’re here for the night, and Scott almost jumped off the roof.” 

“You need to check on the others,” Dad says. “Is it under control?”

“Yeah,” Allison says. “But we could use a ride home. I don’t think we can stay the night here.” 

“I’m on my way. Call if anything happens.”

“Otherwise no news is good news,” Allison agrees. “Love you.” 

They didn’t say that before. Maybe that’s why Dad is silent. “Love you too,” he finally says. “I’ll be there in an hour and a half.” The drive was more than two hours. He’s taking this seriously. 

“So hunters own this motel,” Stiles says when Allison hung up. “Right? That’s what I’ve determined from your half of the conversation.”

“Yes,” Allison says. “Dad says they’re not right, whatever that means.” 

“Well, given that they’ve killed two dozen werewolves this year alone, whatever they’re doing is effective,” Lydia says. “Inducing suicide somehow.” 

“Wolfsbane,” Scott says. “It can make us hallucinate.” 

“Right,” Stiles says. “That’s just usually lower on the list of concerns since you’re typically like, dying. So it’s gotta be a small dose, what did we interact with? Did you touch something?” 

“No, in the air. The vents. Because it faded once we went outside,” Lydia determines, and then her mouth falls open. “Erica.” 

“Boyd,” Stiles says. 

“Isaac,” Scott and Allison both say, and everyone scrambles to their feet and heads for the stairs. In the hall they split, Lydia going for the girls’ room and the other three heading for Isaac and Boyd. Then Allison actually thinks, and she holds Scott back. 

“Stay out here,” she says. “We’ll bring them to you.” Scott hates that, she can see it in his grimace, but she presses him back another step with her hand on his chest and insists. “Promise you’ll stay here. I can’t lose you.” 

Scott puts his hand over hers. “I’ll stay,” he says. So Allison goes.

She can hear Boyd and Stiles bickering in the bathroom as she walks in, which seems like a good sign. Isaac is nowhere to be seen, though. He could’ve left, but that doesn’t seem like him. Then Allison notices - one of the beds’ blankets is on the floor, the corner of it is under the bed. And maybe it’s crazy, but Allison bends down to check if anything else is down there, just in case. 

It’s almost worse to see the top of his head under there. It makes her worried she’s too late, for the fraction of a second until he moves. Just fidgeting. 

“Isaac,” she says. “Are you okay?” 

“Go,” Isaac says. “He’s coming.” 

So he’s not in any imminent danger. He seems okay. “Come on,” Allison says. “Let’s get you outside. Scott’s here, he wants to see you.” 

“Scott,” Isaac repeats quietly. 

“Yeah, come on. Just come with me.” She holds her hand out to him. “Come on,” she says when he doesn’t move. “Trust me.”

He takes her hand, in the end, and lets himself be pulled out into the open. “Go,” Allison says firmly, pushing him towards the door, and the moment he crosses the threshold Scott’s there, eyes glowing white. 

“It’s wolfsbane,” Scott says, holding Isaac by the shoulders. “Fight it." And there’s an extra sort of timbre to his voice, something that even Allison could understand needing to obey. Isaac’s eyes go gold, and when that fades he’s much more himself. His chest is heaving, but he’s not trying to hide anymore. Scott uses that voice on all of the wolves as the humans pull them out to him, stilling them with his voice and ending their strange suicide attempts.

Allison can’t help but notice how Isaac takes direction so much easier than the other two. It takes several minutes to talk them down. But in the end, they’re all back. Panting, out in the hall, and unusually silent. 

“The twins,” Lydia says then. “You should…”

Scott doesn’t bother with the stairs: he hops the railing and falls one floor. “Hate it when he does that,” Stiles says, and leads the mad dash down the steps. 

The twins are beating the shit out of each other by the time Scott gets to them; they’re half dead, until he orders them out into the fresh air. They’re strong, the twins. Two alphas. But four on two is easy - Isaac and Boyd keep Aiden down, and Erica and Scott hold Ethan. For a moment, everyone’s eyes glow - gold and red and white - and some canines look sharp, but then they calm down. The wolves return to humanity, and then they’re just a bunch of people standing in the middle of the parking lot. The sky is darkening. 

“Thanks,” one of the twins says to Scott. Allison hasn’t learned to tell them apart. 

“Of course,” Scott says. 

“It was dumb, though,” the other one says. “You should’ve let us die.” 

Scott frowns. “What? Why? Alphas are supposed to protect the pack.” 

“You’re not our alpha,” the first one says. 

“And that’s not what our alpha would do, anyways,” the other one takes back over.

“Derek would,” Stiles begins, and Boyd cuts him off. 

“Derek wouldn’t have saved them,” he says, with a shake of his head. Erica and Isaac both nod their agreement. 

And that makes Scott mad. Allison knows what it looks like, even though she’s only seen it a couple time. “Then he doesn’t deserve to be an alpha,” he says. 

Stiles and Allison look at each other, they know that tone. That means Scott has decided something, and using context clues it seems like he’s choosing responsibility. A decidedly non-normal high school experience. But Scott’s never met a person he didn’t find worth protecting. They love that about him. Allison reminds Stiles of that mentally. 

It only half works. “Scott, don’t be crazy,” he says. “What are we the CPS of werewolf society? We can’t just take Derek’s pack.” 

“I think I could,” Scott says. He looks at Isaac, and then Allison. “What do you think?” he asks her. 

“You’d be a great alpha,” she tells him. “If you want to be. But it’s a lot of responsibility. Are you sure you want to?” 

Scott nods. He makes eye contact with everyone else too, in turn. Like he’d done that one day at lunch. A real leader. “I’m the alpha,” he says. Trying it on. 

It sounds right. 

Lydia takes off pretty soon after. “I need some space,” she says. “To think.” Allison gives her the keys with no hesitation. 

“I’ll ride back with Dad,” she says. Lydia gives her a hug, gives Scott a meaningful look, and then heads off for the car.

“Shotgun,” Stiles pipes up after a second, and jogs off to join her. He doesn’t ask Allison to call if anything happens; it’s a given. And then it’s just Allison and the wolves, sitting in the parking lot. 

She goes into their rooms for them, retrieves all of their belongings and brings them out into the parking lot. Some of the other patrons give them some odd looks. Seven kids sitting on asphalt? Allison gets it. She looks at Scott. “We need to wait somewhere safer,” she says. 

“Roof?” Scott suggests. 

So they all end up there, lying flat and watching the stars. Allison half-expects the wolves to howl. She doesn’t lay flat, though, she sits on the edge, her feet dangling over, and thinks about how she almost Scott not even an hour ago. God, he almost died. And now he’s lying between Boyd and Erica, talking shit about Coach. The twins are even chiming in. 

As she glances back to check on them, Isaac gets up and comes over to her, joining her on the edge. “Hey,” he says. He’s a little less than an arm’s length away. “Thanks.” 

“Sure.” 

That’s not all he wants to say, but he leaves it at that for a minute. They just sit there. She wonders if he’s listening to her, but at the same time can’t bring herself to care. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing, for him to know how she feels. Everything felt a lot more important until everyone almost died, again. But Allison’s not good at apologies, or opening up. So she waits to see what he’ll do. 

“Do you want to push me off?” Isaac eventually asks, and Allison frowns. 

“What? No.” 

“You could. I’d heal, now that the wolfsbane-”

“I said no,” Allison says. And then adds, “I’m not mad at you.” 

Isaac raises his eyebrows at her. “You’re not?” he repeats. “Sure. You’ve definitely been acting like a not mad person.”

Furiously, Allison whips her head around and glares at Isaac until a smile’s threatening to break over his face, and then she says, “Is that maybe the reason I’m clarifying right now? Do you think that could be it?” 

“Hard to say,” Isaac says. “I wouldn’t want to guess. Since that pisses you off, apparently.” 

So this is something real they have to talk about. Allison had been hoping that a vague sort of assurance would be enough, but now that she knows it isn’t she finds she almost doesn’t mind. Argents love a mission. And the sun has nearly set, the sky a deep cobalt streaked with warmth near the horizon. It feels sort of private. Just the two of them. 

“It doesn’t,” Allison says. “I’m sorry. But can you please, just. I don’t want everyone around me to know when I’m having a panic attack, for example.” 

“I can try to not listen, but,” Isaac begins. 

“Not you,” she cuts him off to say. “Just. Can you be a little more subtle about it?” 

He smiles, but he still has that hangdog look about him, apologetic trying to look prickly, and Allison reaches out to him without thinking much of it. It’s simple, once she’s moving, to hold his hand. It feels like something they could do more. “More subtle,” he says. “Sure.” He looks over his shoulder for a second then, at Scott, and Allison has a moment of mind reading herself. She lets go and takes her hand back, folds them in her lap. But then Isaac scoots closer, feet dangling over the edge. Their arms are touching. 

“Be careful,” she says. “Long fall.” 

“I won’t fall,” he says. “Now you, on the other hand.” 

“I think I’ll be okay as long as you don’t push me.” 

Isaac huffs out a laugh, leans back on his hands and looks up at the sky. “I’ll try to restrain myself,” he says, and the pause between them is less tense than before. “Just one question, though. Aren’t these hunters your people?” 

“No,” Allison says. “They’re not. We hunt those who hunt us, we don’t…” They don’t what, she asks herself. They don’t hit first? Or attack the innocent? They did both, before. 

“You don’t own a motel,” Isaac suggests dryly. 

“Yeah,” she says. “We’d never do that.” 

“Tacky,” he agrees. 

Scott joins them next. He sits on Allison’s other side and puts his arm around her so naturally she almost forgets they’re still broken up. “Hey,” he says, his head on her shoulder. 

“Hi. What’s this?” 

“I dunno. I feel like hugging you. I think maybe we need this.” 

“We, who?” 

“The pack,” he says. And after a moment, he scoots around to Isaac’s side, and wraps him up in a hug too. “We’re okay,” he says. 

The wolves all fall asleep, waiting for Dad, contact connecting them all. Scott has a hand on Isaac and a leg over Boyd’s leg, and Boyd’s got an arm over Erica. The twins are their own unit, further away. And Allison stays where she is, sitting on the edge with Scott at her back, until Dad’s car pulls in. 

The twins won’t be coming with them. No one’s too upset about it. They’ll figure something out.

Allison takes the passenger seat so no one else has to, which leaves four werewolves to fit in the back seat. “I’ll sit in the trunk,” Boyd says after a second where no one moves. 

He does indeed sit in the trunk, but a few minutes after they get on the road Allison looks back to find all of them asleep again. Isaac and Erica have their heads on Scott’s shoulders, Boyd’s arm is over the seat back, his hand brushing Scott’s hair, so Scott’s right in the middle of everyone. Right where he wants to be. 

Dad breaks the silence, his voice soft. “So no one died,” he says. 

“No, we got them outside. Lydia’s pretty sure they’re distributing the wolfsbane through air vents.” 

“Like a venus flytrap,” Dad says, which kind of doesn’t make any sense but Allison just nods. 

“They said twenty-nine people have already died there this year,” she says. 

“That’s a high number.” 

Allison frowns at him. “Dad.” 

“It’s not our place to get involved, Ally.” 

“The hell it isn’t.” 

“Hunters stay out of each other’s way,” Dad says, like he’s said so many times. “They’re not Argents, so I have no say in-” 

Allison cuts him off. “They’re murderers,” she says. “They almost killed six teenagers tonight, without even showing their faces. And we’re people who could stop them.” 

“So now we kill hunters,” Dad says. 

“We hunt those who hunt us.”

“How are you defining ‘us’, Allison?” he asks, finally looking over at her. 

“How are you?” she demands in return.

And Dad doesn’t have any response to that. As far as she can tell, that means he’s thinking about it. The best she could hope for, at the moment. So they sit in silence together, and drive. The Argents are good with silence. 

“I froze,” Allison tells him after several long minutes, when she thinks of it. “When we found Scott. I couldn’t move.” 

“That makes sense,” Dad says. 

“Does it?” Allison asks, her voice unsteady. 

Dad just nods. “Your mother,” he says. 

“Oh.” She hadn’t even connected those dots. 

“Forced suicide is a… loaded topic. For both of us.” 

“Right.” All of a sudden this is a conversation she doesn’t want to have with other people around. Allison’s throat is tight; she looks out the window and keeps her mouth shut. 

Dad takes her hand in between their seats. “I hear you,” he says deliberately. “You make a good point. I’ll talk to some people about the motel.”

“Thank you.” 

“You’ve got to trust me, Ally. We have to keep talking.” 

Allison bites down on her lip hard, looks out her window. “I know,” she says. “I do, I will, but. We’re on the same side.” She motions with her finger, including everyone in the car. 

“Right,” is all Dad says. And that’s not quite a yes. 

They meet on the porch of the old Hale house. There’s nothing here that can get destroyed if things go south, and they will. Allison arrives with her crossbow over her shoulder and a dozen knives on her person. 

Scott’s in a sweatshirt, looking warm and soft and vulnerable. Isaac is with him, and Stiles who looks just about as stressed as she’s ever seen him. He hugs her hello, and then Isaac does too. Momentum sort of carries them into each other. It’s awkward. He’s so much taller than Scott that she doesn’t quite know how to fit at first. It’s over before she works it out, and Isaac backs away with the tips of his ears red. “Sorry,” he says. 

“It’s fine,” Allison and Scott answer in unison. 

There’s no time to unpack that. Allison looks at Scott with pointed intensity - the same way, her brain whispers to her, that Scott had looked at her when she caught him checking Isaac out - and remains on topic. Scott listens with a hint of a smile. “If he tries to stop you, I’m going to shoot him,” Allison says. 

“No,” Stiles says, pointing at her. “No, you are not going to shoot him, because he will definitely try to stop this from happening.” Isaac nods, backing him up. “This is an awful idea.” 

“Then I will definitely shoot him,” Allison says. 

Scott sighs, head falling back, and Isaac grins. She almost doesn’t notice how his arms are tightly crossed, how clearly he hates this. Let him hate it, though. Some things need to be done. 

“Allison,” Scott says. “He’s not going to try to kill me, it’ll be fine.” 

“You don’t know that,” Allison says. “So I’m prepared.” 

“Right, because that will definitely set him at ease,” Stiles huffs. 

Erica and Boyd jog up through the woods, fast and without breaking a sweat. “Nice,” Erica says appreciatively when she sees Allison’s crossbow. “Where’s Lydia?” 

“Staying home,” Allison answers. 

“Good.”

“No bad feeling about this,” Stiles says. It sounds more like a hope than a certainty but it is true. Lydia didn’t sense any death today.

“Maybe her intuition’s broken,” Boyd says. “Because Derek isn’t going to let anyone just leave.” 

“That’s why I’m here,” Allison says. 

Everyone but Stiles seems glad of that. Maybe because Stiles cares the most about Derek. They’re still texting, after all, something Stiles has mysteriously forgotten to keep Scott in the loop about. He’s pacing on the front porch when Derek shows up. Out of nowhere, as usual. 

“So, Scott,” Derek says, appearing among the trees. “You finally come toyour senses? The alpha pack isn’t just going away.” 

“This isn’t about that,” Scott says. 

“It should be.”

“It isn’t.” 

Derek looks at everyone else then, and Allison wonders if he feels it. That they’re already Scott’s. Because she can feel it, something in her instincts telling her that Isaac and Boyd and Erica all belong to Scott, four parts of the same organism. Isaac especially, he’s on Scott like a shadow. “Oh,” Derek says, faux serious. “Is this an intervention?”

“In a way,” Stiles says, desperately hoping to keep some peace. 

“Derek,” Scott says firmly. “We’re all just teenagers. We don’t want to be part of this. So we’re just going to finish high school, and stay out of the supernatural battles.” 

Derek took a step closer. “That’s not an option,” he says, like as fact.

“Yes it is.” 

“Look,” Derek says. “If you want to put your head in the sand, I can’t stop you. But my pack won’t be doing that.”

“We’re not yours anymore, asshole,” Erica says. So then the cat’s out of the bag. 

Derek seems genuinely taken aback; he looks at the three of them, the ones that used to be his, and it looks like he feels something new. “Let me see your eyes,” he demands of Scott. 

Allison’s behind him, so she doesn’t see the silver glow but she sees Derek’s reaction. It looks a lot like he’s afraid, and hates Scott for it.

“I’m a true alpha,” Scott says. “Deaton told me what that means. And I’m going to keep us out of it. We don’t want to be part of everything you’re part of. I’m sorry, but I know you’ll understand-” 

“I _don’t_ understand,” Derek counters, and something of his tone reminds Allison of Stiles, almost. The furious sarcasm. The way he advances on them threateningly, though, is all him. “You’re stealing my pack? Is that what you’re saying?”

“He’s not doing that,” Stiles says quickly. “He’s… borrowing them.” 

“You can’t steal people,” Scott says, and motions between himself and the others. “We discussed it.” 

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Derek shakes his head, and now he’s coming up the steps. “You need me.” 

“Maybe,” Scott says. “But not for this. Right now we need to focus on the pSATs. And finals.” Scott’s about to say something else, but Derek puts his hand out towards Scott and Allison’s mind does what it hasn’t for a while, clicks through possibilities like the release a camera shutter, rapid-fire. Derek’s hand on Scott, her knife cutting through flesh and tendon and cutting his fucking hand off, or stabbing him in the heart, or neck, or-

She finds herself standing in front of Scott and Isaac and Stiles, between them and Derek, staring Derek in his eyes. He only seems sort of intrigued, his eyebrows high. “Oh, so you’re in the pack now?” he says. “Done hunting my family for sport?” 

“She’s always been in the pack, idiot,” Stiles says, and reaches around Allison to try and get her to lower the knife. Allison shakes him off. Stiles doesn’t stop talking, of course. “Back off, dude, stop being so possessive, okay? This is not a big deal.” 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek snaps. 

“Hey,” Scott frowns. “Don’t yell at Stiles.”

Isaac steps forward then, joining Allison in facing Derek down. She catches Boyd and Erica moving in from the side too, ready for things to turn. “I’m trying to protect you,” Derek says, looking at his former pack.

“Maybe,” Isaac says, his tone inappropriately casual. “In a way. But if you were really trying to protect us you wouldn’t have gotten us into this in the first place.” 

That’s something Derek didn’t expect. He looks at Isaac with a frown. “You _asked_ me to turn you,” he says. “All of you did.” 

“Yeah, because you left a couple things out, when you gave us the whole werewolf speech,” Isaac says. Allison doesn’t take her eyes off Derek, but she notices the lean readiness of Isaac, the tension she can feel. 

“Like the fact that turning us would make you more powerful,” Boyd says. “That factor.”

“That’s not why I did it,” Derek says through clenched teeth. 

“We shouldn’t have to take that on faith,” Isaac answers. 

Derek scoffs, huffs out several angry laughs and paces a few steps away and back again. Allison follows his movement, tracking it, her senses all screaming high alert. Scott takes a step forward too, between her and Isaac. Always putting himself in the middle. “Oh sure,” Derek says once his performance of indignance is over. “Your lives were so much better before. You were losers. You,” he points at Erica, “were having seizures.” 

“Right, because no one’s ever lived with those,” she says. 

“And _you_ didn’t have any friends,” Derek reminds Boyd. 

“Yeah,” Boyd nods. “I definitely needed to be a shapeshifter to fix that.” 

Derek’s saving his most convincing case for last. He looks at Isaac then. “And you,” he says. “You’d rather be at home with your dad right now? Really?” 

“Tough choice,” Isaac says. “But that’s not the point.” 

“Please, arrive at the point.” 

“You turned teenagers into werewolves without telling them everything,” Scott says. “That’s the point. And maybe we’ll get into everything, all the werewolf politics, but first we want to graduate high school.” 

Derek comes back, closer, the look on his face dangerous. “You know I can’t just let you do this.” 

“I know you can’t stop me,” Scott says. 

But he’ll try. In one smooth movement, Allison stows her knife and levels her crossbow at Derek’s chest. The tip is silver, it’ll slow him down long enough for her to reload with one of the wolfsbane-laced bolts. She’s ready to pull the trigger until Stiles puts himself between her and Derek. His back’s to her; he knows she won’t shoot him. She wishes he was less right, just for a second. 

“Derek,” Stiles says. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Okay? Let them go, and just take some time to think.”

“The alpha pack-” Derek begins. 

“They’ll leave you alone,” Stiles says. “You’re not an alpha anymore.” 

Derek’s eyes flash, but Stiles is right. They’re blue, not red. “Scott, you can’t do this,” Derek begins urgently. 

“I’m sorry,” Scott says. “It’s the right thing to do.” 

“The fuck it is.” Derek’s a hair away from transforming; Allison can see it in his eyes, in the heaviness of his breathing. “You’re gonna take my pack and you haven’t even earned it? Really?” 

“I won’t fight you for it, if that’s what you’re talking about,” Scott says. 

He won’t, Scott is the most stubborn person alive when he knows he’s doing the right thing. Allison can see Derek’s thought process as he realizes that, and then he looks at her. And the worst thing about having a team, Allison thinks, is the way they make you weak. Because she knows Derek will try to goad her into fighting to make Scott get involved, and yet knowing doesn’t stop it from happening. 

“Come on, Allison,” Derek says with a devil’s smile. “Finish what your mom started. Argents love to kill a lone wolf, right?” 

Stiles reaches back and grabs Allison’s crossbow to point it down; she’s already anticipated this and dropped it to pull her knife, but Isaac grabs her with an arm around the waist. “Let me _go_ ,” she demands. 

“Don’t,” Isaac says. 

“Right,” Derek says. “You hate a fair fight. You just prefer to kill women and children, right?” 

“Fuck you,” Allison says, her vision red. 

“What _would_ your mother think, if she could see you now?” Derek asks with mock concern. “Wouldn’t be very proud, I imagine.”

Isaac laughs once, lets go of her, and even Scott doesn’t have anything to say when Allison darts forward, past Stiles, and sinks two knives deep into the meat of Derek’s shoulders, between ribs. One punctures his lung, she’s sure of it. The other should pierce his trachea. The first one is treated with wolfsbane, so that wound doesn’t heal. Not even a little bit. 

Derek makes a face halfway between a grin and a grimace. “Don’t you wish you had claws?” he asks, swaying on his feet. 

“No!” Allison snaps, and pulls out two more knives. She slashes a thick slice through his stomach with one hand, kicks Derek to the ground, and then sinks a blade into his arm before wrenching it out. That’ll hurt. 

He fights back then, goes to swipe one of the knives out of her hand and instead catches her with his claws, a swipe deep into her thigh. “Oops,” he says, and smiles with blood in his teeth. Then he looks somewhere over her shoulder. “Still don’t feel like fighting, Scott?” 

Scott joins Allison standing over Derek’s prone body then, but he just puts an arm around her. Casually, without fear, like she’s not holding two knives covered in blood. “Does it hurt?” he asks her. 

“Not yet,” Allison says. Scott’s touch is settling her down, clearing the bloodlust from her head. She looks down at herself; the cuts are deep, hot blood oozing into the tears in her jeans. “But I’ll need stitches.” 

“Will you let someone take you to the hospital? Isaac, maybe?” Scott asks, calm and patient. Not like she’s crazy, but. Not too far off. But hell, maybe she is a little crazy. And maybe she needs Scott’s peacemaking to even her out. Maybe someone listening for her to lose it is a better idea than it felt like before. 

Isaac comes up too, moving intentionally so he doesn’t surprise her too bad. “Come on,” he says. “Please. Don’t let this go further.” 

“The pack will be torn apart,” Derek says. “You’ll regret this.” 

“He needs the hospital too,” Isaac says. 

“I’ll take him,” Stiles volunteers. “Me and Scott. I think different cars is probably a good call, at the moment.”

Good call. “Give me my crossbow,” Allison says. 

“You’ll get it back at the hospital,” Stiles says. 

Allison has to smile. “Fair enough.” When she takes her first step, she discovers the adrenaline is fading as sharp pain lances through her entire side. “Fuck,” she says. 

“I’ve got you,” Isaac says. “Lean on me.” 

He drives her to the hospital in her car, careful not to take turns too sharply. Her leg begins to throb, and Allison imagines each pulse coming with a visible push of blood soaking through more of her jeans. Maybe he hit an artery. When she mentions that, Isaac sets his jaw and drives faster. And when they get there, he carries her inside. She’s too tired to fight it. 

Things fog in and out after that, only still images flashing through her brain. Melissa looking at her with pale-faced concern, a needle sticking out of her bare hip, Isaac’s face watching her closely, his eyes gold. 

She wakes up an indeterminate amount of time late, with Dad holding one hand, passed out in his chair, and Scott asleep with his head resting against her thigh. Allison puts her free hand over his hair before she fully understands where she is. And she looks at her hip; no open wounds, only a thick white bandage peeking out from shorts she doesn't remember putting on. 

“I could’ve gone deeper,” Derek says, and Allison discovers he’s in the bed next to her. They’re sharing a room. Isaac is curled up in another chair at the foot of her bed, his hand around her ankle. 

“What?” Allison says faintly. 

Derek holds a hand up, his claws extending with an audible snick. “I could’ve cut you to the bone,” he says. “Or ripped your leg off.” 

“Then why the fuck didn’t you?” Allison asks, only half interested in the answer. Her chest hurts too, but nothing’s wrong with it. 

“Because I’m not trying to kill you,” Derek says. “I just want Scott to see.” 

Stiles, Allison notices now, is here too. Asleep on Derek’s side of the room, snoring lightly. Her crossbow is next to him, in its own chair. “Great job,” Allison says. “I’m sure this convinced him.” 

“Shut up,” Derek sighs, but without any venom. He’s quiet, she remembers. When he’s not trying to change everyone’s mind, he’s not loud. “The alpha pack won’t leave him alone,” he says after a while. 

“I don’t know,” Allison says, and runs her hands through Scott’s hair a couple times. “Scott can be pretty convincing.”


	2. But Who Could Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year later in Beacon Hills, and a lot has changed. 
> 
> Picking up roughly at the start of season 4, but with most of the plot changed.

“She’s good,” Allison says.

Lydia, sitting next to her in the stands, is looking pointedly across the field. “I’m aware.”

“Like, really good.”

“Yep.”

Allison cranes her neck to watch the small figure on the field. “Like, she’s better than Scott, I think,” she says, and watches as Beacon Hills manages to score for a second time in the first three minutes of play time. For all her supposed composure, Lydia’s up and cheering right along with Allison, even though this is just a scrimmage.

“I’d hope so,” Lydia says once they’re sitting again, “considering how Scott’s never practiced a day in his life.”

“Wow,” Allison frowns.

“Sorry.” Lydia bumps her shoulder into Allison’s apologetically. “Teasing.” She isn’t. “But, you don’t have to be a werewolf to be good at sports.”

True. It just helps usually. There’s no mistaking how getting stronger helped Scott and Isaac on the field; the two of them are distinctly taller on the field than most of everybody else. But this year, the team got two new starters as transfer students. Lydia’s girlfriend Kira, and the freshman kid that’s been kicking everyone’s ass at practice. Allison can’t quite remember his name. He’s scored already too, the first goal. Allison watches him, watches Isaac and Scott on the other side of the field having some kind of conversation. Then Scott jogs over to Kira, says something.

The next chance they get, Scott passes to Kira, who takes a brutal tackle from the biggest guy on the other team. Only, no - he’d passed to Isaac, who makes it down the field in just a couple steps and scores.

“Oh, that’s a good move,” Lydia says. “Nobody expects the guys would set her up to take a fake out tackle.”

It is a good move, except for two things. First, Allison notices how annoyedthe new kid - Liam, she remembers at last - is, slamming his stick into the ground so hard she expects it to splinter. And second, it catches someone’s attention. She hadn’t seen him before, but there’s the Deucalion sitting in the opposing team’s bleachers and tilting his head curiously.

“Fuck,” Allison says, and says quietly, “Isaac.”

Isaac’s head snaps up and they make eye contact from a hundred feet away. He might as well be standing right in front of her. She looks pointedly at Deucalion, and Isaac follows her gaze. She can almost swear she hears him curse under his breath. As soon as he can, he gets Scott’s attention and they have some low conversation.

“God,” Lydia mutters. “Why can’t he just leave them alone for a second? Some people are trying to get sports scholarships.” Her newfound passion for sports is something Allison’s still getting used to, but Lydia’s the only person more loyal than Scott so it does make sense. Of course dating an athlete would turn Lydia into a lacrosse expert; pretending to date Jackson had made her an expert in his interests, after all. It’s just those interests were mostly fashion, and bitchiness.

It’s a relatively boring game after that. Scott, Isaac, and Kira stay on their best behavior, trying to avoid the attention of Deucalion who stays where he is. Liam scores again before the scrimmage is over, a play gets Scott knocked flat protecting him. Allison thinks she catches Liam looking at the Deucalion - or that’s what it looks like, at least. That doesn’t make any sense.

“Hey,” she says to Lydia. “We’re sure Liam’s not a wolf, right?”

“Yes. As much as Stiles is convinced we’re somehow wrong, Liam is a talented fifteen year old and nothing else,” Lydia says, irritation coloring her tone. And okay, maybe Allison deserves it that time.

“Not because he’s good,” she says. “But why else would he be so interested in the Deucalion?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia says softly, in the tone that means her mind is elsewhere. Then she gets on her phone for several minutes. The game is almost over when she looks up. “Liam got kicked out of his old school,” she says. “And he retweets a lot of stunt type videos.”

Allison frowns. “Meaning?”

“I think he wants to be noticed,” Lydia says. “I wonder if he even knows who Deucalion is, or if he’s just noticed Scott noticing him.”

“Should I find him after and ask?” Allison suggests, and Lydia nods.

“Absolutely.”

At the end of the scrimmage, the girls head down onto the field. Lydia lets Kira kiss her with just a wrinkled nose as comment, and Allison thinks, watching them, about when Scott used to do the same. Isaac pokes at her with his lacrosse stick. “Is he still over there?” he asks, his back towards the other side of the field. Scott is at his side, one gloved hand on Isaac’s shoulder.

“Yep,” Lydia answers. “What’s with the kid trying to get his attention?”

Scott sighs. “He thinks he’s a recruiter or something,” he says. “He was telling us we were sabotaging him.”

“Did you correct him?” Allison demands, and Scott bobs his head.

“Obviously. But he doesn’t believe me, he thinks I’m jealous.”

Isaac smirks and looks over at Scott, their faces close. “You kind of are.”

“Shut up,” Scott grins. “You know what I mean.”

“He doesn’t know Scott McCall doesn’t do sabotage, you mean,” Kira says, her eyes sparkling. She’s only been here a couple of months and she already gets everybody; she and Lydia make sense. “I’m gonna go shower.”

“We’re coming too,” Scott says, and glances over his shoulder. Deucalion is gone. “Yell if anything happens. We’ll be listening.”

Allison nods. “You got it.”

Before heading for the locker room, Scott looks over at Stiles, who’s talking a mile a minute to a very unenthusiastic Derek. Scott just looks, though, and then walks away with Isaac.

“Ice cold,” Lydia says, and leads the way over to Stiles.

Allison wouldn’t say she’s comfortable around Derek. At best, she’s gotten better at compartmentalizing. This Derek isn’t the person who bit her mom, he’s the kind of dorky adult who listens to every insane thing Stiles says with a glare and then manages to top it all when he finally speaks with something a million times more insane.

Stiles is mid-sentence when they get to him. “-merely pointing out that eye color is an insane thing to be carrying so much information in the werewolf community. And if there’s all these distinctions, why aren’t there purple eyes, for example. Or green? Nothing in nature has red eyes anyways.”

“A loon,” Lydia interjects. “Starlings. Several kinds of birds.”

“I’m talking wolves, though,” Stiles decides, argument shifting on the fly the way he does so well. “Wolves don’t have red eyes, that’s my point. Yellow, maybe. White, okay. Even blue! But red?”

“Jaguars have green eyes,” Derek points out. “So in your world, if there was a were-jaguar-”

“Oh, yes a were-jaguar, Derek. Great idea,” Stiles says in the withering tones of someone who has heard the worst idea in the world. “That makes sense.”

“Still on the whole eye color thing?” Allison asks, mostly rhetorically.

Derek glances at her. “What do you think,” he says. Like they’re on the same side, annoyed by Stiles together. Which, in the moment, they kind of are. Minus everything about her mom. And Stiles had a rough second half of sophomore year, so Allison is trying to forget things for him. Especially because Scott doesn’t seem able to.

“Blue being for murders is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, anyways,” Stiles continues. “It’s the color of tranquility and peace. Red should be for murderers. Obviously.”

“That’s a decent point,” Lydia says, and Stiles gloats with his entire body, spreading his arms out wide.

Derek stands, his hands in his pockets. “Sure,” he says. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll change it right now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stiles says. He just wanted the theoretical victory. He looks at Allison then. “Why was Deucalion at our scrimmage?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Scott didn’t seem too worried, though. Except for how the freshman kept trying to get his attention.”

“That kid’s a time bomb,” Stiles says disapprovingly.

“That kid,” Derek says, “hasn’t done half the dumb shit you have.”

“He’s young,” Lydia says absently. “Plenty of time to catch up.”

Stiles gave her a _look_ , then, one that gave him like three chins and a squint. “Wow,” he says. “Okay. We’re all big fans of false equivalences, huh? I’m talking about the little squirt’s anger problems, has no one fucking noticed that?”

“You’re the only one,” Lydia says dryly, on her phone.

Stiles looks between the three of them with increasing indignance. “Okay,” he says. “I can tell I’m not appreciated here. I’m gonna go change before the sweat adheres these clothes to my body.”

“Stop talking about your body,” Allison says, and Stiles flips her off and flees but not before she catches a glimpse of a flush on his cheeks.

The three of them start heading for the parking lot by a silent sort of agreement, moving slowly. Allison ends up in the middle somehow, but keeps her head. No flashbacks. There are scars on her hip from Derek. He doesn’t have any marks on him, though, of course. She wonders if that makes it easier for him to forget, to pretend the Deucalion doesn’t bother him and that he doesn’t care if Scott talks to him and that he didn’t make her mother kill herself.

“I don’t know how Scott got him to back off,” Derek finally says. “But if Deucalion’s going to start going after him again, he’s going to need protection. You all will.”

“Yeah, well. I think we’ll leave that to somebody else, thanks,” Allison says. There it is again, sounding mean instead of afraid.

Derek doesn’t seem to mind. “Ha ha,” he says seriously. “The true alpha thing might be scaring them for now, but it won’t forever. Is Scott thinking about that?”

“Ask Stiles.”

“Stiles won’t discuss Scott,” Derek admits. Is that grudging respect in his voice? Or is he just annoyed.

Lydia snorts. “Duh,” she says. “Iron curtain.”

“What?” Allison asks, her frown deepening when she realizes Derek said the exact same thing in unison with her.

“Iron curtain,” Lydia repeats, her eyes wide and innocent. “That’s what he always says when I ask him about Kira.”

“What do you ask him about Kira?” Allison demands.

All she gets is a defensive sort of shrug. “I don’t know. Nothing wrong. Just, anything that would be betraying a confidence, that’s behind the iron curtain.”

“That seems to be most things regarding Scott,” Derek says.

“Well, must you be reminded that Scott is his best friend, and you’re the guy who wanted to punch him for trying to not be in a war?” Lydia points out, her tone much more neutral than Allison would be able to manage but not very neutral at all.

Derek doesn’t have anything to say to that for a good long while. They get to the cars. “It was more complicated than that,” he finally says.

“Duh,” Lydia says. “I was just making a point.”

Kira comes up to them then, carrying her lacrosse bag. Her hair’s in a thick wet braid down her back. She always gets done faster; being one of only two girls on the team means no competition for showers. “Hey,” she says politely, including Derek. “We good to go, babe?”

“Yep,” Lydia says, and gives Allison a one-armed hug goodbye. “Text me,” she says.

“I will,” Allison says.

Then it’s just her and Derek. She’s waiting for Isaac and Scott, so she can’t leave and he just isn’t moving. “You should take my number,” he says then, out of the blue.

“What?” Allison says.

Derek nods, arms crossed. “In case you guys need backup. Somehow I have the feeling that you’ll be the one still standing when shit goes down.”

She blinks several times. “And I’d call you?”

“Take my number,” Derek says again.

And she decides it can’t hurt. She can take it without using it. At the moment, she wants out of the interaction more than she cares about principles. So she enters Derek into her phone, and then makes a point of not giving him her number back. Derek either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care; he looks away. So Allison ignores him, and waits for Isaac and Scott in silence.

Scott and Isaac come out of the locker room together, laughing about something. She leaves Derek then, walks towards the boys on her own. Boyd and Erica have mostly gone their own way after leaving Derek’s pack; Scott gave them the chance to be normal and they’re absolutely taking it, and that’s great. It only makes it more obvious, though, how clear it is that Isaac has chosen to stay close to Scott. And her, maybe. She lets herself think she’s part of it, sometimes.

“Allison. You shouldn’t go home alone,” Scott says the moment she’s near them. 

“Okay, Isaac’s room is still his,” Allison says, but that’s not the concern. “Where’s Liam?”

“Still changing,” Isaac says. “Why?”

“If he got Deucalion’s attention, he needs to be careful,” Allison says.

She can see Scott wanting to not care about it. He screws his mouth up in the most annoyed way, and wrinkles his nose up and then sighs deeply. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll warn him.” And he holds his arm out to Allison then, for a hug it looks like he needs.

Of course she hugs him. She wraps him up in her arms and squeezes him tight, feels him relax at the security. “It’s probably nothing,” she says.

“I wish you meant that,” Scott sighs. He presses his face against her shoulder and adds, “I wish I could believe it.”

“It probably is, though,” Isaac says helpfully. He puts his hand over one of Allison’s, on Scott’s back, and pats a couple times awkwardly. “Just trying to psych you out.”

“Well, it’s freaking working,” Scott grumbles. “We’ve got another two years minimum, before I’m letting anybody get all mixed up in this. If I have to remind him, I will.”

“Yeah,” Allison says as they separate. “And if you have to convince a kid you’re not being recruited for college lacrosse on the way, so be it.”

“So be it,” Isaac echoes, and slings his arm over Scott’s shoulder to hold him close for a second. “Even if he’s kind of better than us.”

Scott smiles. “Well,” he says. So that’s part of the point. Not enough to stop him, though. As Kira would say, Scott McCall doesn’t do petty jealousy either.

Allison hugs Isaac then, as Scott wanders anxiously closer to the locker room. They’ll follow him in a second; first she just wants another hug. For the symmetry of the thing, and also because he’s good at settling her. She can hear his heartbeat, preternaturally slow. It helps calm her nerves. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and holds her against his chest, and she squeezes him tight around the waist, and they’re just there for a second. She lets out a breath.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“Yeah,” she says. “Just. Pretty intense for a scrimmage.”

Isaac huffs a laugh out into her hair, and she smiles against his chest. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s for sure.” He lets go of her when she pulls away, sticks his hands in his pockets and looks at her. The streetlights cast harsh shadows over his cheeks. “How’s Derek?” he asks then.

Only when Scott’s far enough away to pretend he’s not listening, Allison notes. Not with anger, just noting it. “Normal, for him, I think,” she says. “Arguing more about werewolf eye colors.”

“Good,” Isaac huffs out a laugh. “Productive.”

“A love language I don’t understand, for sure,” Allison says. She can’t hear heartbeats, but she’s learned to catch Isaac’s reactions, as quick as they are. It’s a tightness of his mouth this time, that gives away how something she said caught on one of his edges. “What?” she says.

“Nothing,” he says.

“What!”

“Nothing! It’s just…” He scratches his head awkwardly. “You think they love each other?”

Allison hadn’t considered that, honestly, but she doesn’t know how to say that without sounding stupid. So she stalls, making a bunch of faces while Isaac watches with the gentle amused interest that’s kind of his default state these days. And then Scott shouting cuts her off before she has to answer.

“Leave him alone!” Scott yells.

“Shit,” Isaac says, and they take off towards the building.

Scott wandered far, while they were standing there. The parking lot has emptied out a lot, most people gone, which is probably why the Deucalion is here. He’s holding the freshman kid up in one hand, and the kid doesn’t seem to be moving. Scott shifts as they watch, the changes rippling over his body and eyes glowing silver in the night. It affects the other wolves too; Isaac’s eyes go gold, and behind his stupid glasses the Deucalion’s eyes glow blood red.

“Put him down,” Scott says.

“Why do you care?” Deucalion says, in his stupid accent. “He’s not in your pack.”

“What are you talking about?” Scott demands. “He’s just a teenager, he’s not part of this whether or not he’s in my pack.”

Deucalion smirks, and Allison feels the part of herself that wants to rip his throat out rearing its head. Isaac takes her arm to hold her back, just in case. Probably a good call. “Oh,” he says. “So you’re looking for a renegotiation of terms?”

“I’m looking,” Scott says, “for you to not kill my classmates.”

“Little late for that.”

“Is he dead?” Allison asks Isaac, who shakes his head. She could charge him to get him to drop the kid, or maybe if she throws something as Scott runs at him-

Scott roars then, the kind of sound that will draw anyone nearby to come investigate, and Deucalion drops Liam as he takes a few steps away. Seems like he might even be a little scared. Good. “Leave,” Scott commands, and the Deucalion does.

He just has one thing to say first. “You can’t run forever, Mr. McCall.”

And that’s ominous. That’s fucking scary. But that matters a lot less than the boy on the ground. Allison knows before she takes a single step that Scott won’t let Liam die. She knows, when they’re kneeling next to him seeing the extent of his injuries - like, what did Deucalion do, throw him into a wall a couple times? - that Liam probably won’t make it to the hospital, let alone surgery.

“Scott,” Isaac says meaningfully. He’s kneeling next to Scott, and Allison’s facing them, shielding Liam from the threat that’s not there anymore.

“We need to get going before someone finds us,” she says.

Scott bites down on his lip. “I…” he hesitates.

Liam coughs, blood wetting his lips, and that makes Scott’s mind up for him. He lets out a shaky breath, his teeth getting sharper, and he picks up one of Liam’s arms, the one that’s not broken. Isaac puts his hand on Scott’s shoulder. The moment Scott bites down, they hear Stiles shouting, “What the fuck are you doing!”

“McCall,” Derek says at the same time.

Fuck, Derek’s still here? Allison can’t keep track of anything, because Liam’s bleeding, his eyes are fluttering, and Allison can only see Kate. Bleeding out at Peter’s feet. If Kate had gotten bitten she might’ve been alive, if she’d let herself live as a wolf.

She can’t breathe, the air’s too thick.

Scott’s hugging her before she understands why. “Deaton’s,” he says like he’s just confirming something they already talked about, and she nods so he kisses her forehead before running off to Stiles’ Jeep. Derek is getting in the Jeep, with Liam in his lap. Deaton’s, Allison thinks with bafflement. She’s missing something.

“Allison,” Isaac says to get her attention. He helps her stand up, her hand in his, and then they’re walking somewhere, hands still connected.

“What’s…” she begins.

“We’re going to Deaton’s,” he says. “Scott’s worried the bite will kill Liam anyways, and Derek said there was nothing he could do, so. We’re going.”

“Okay,” she says, and gives him her keys. She shouldn’t be driving right now. Hell, maybe she shouldn’t even be here. What would her dad say, if he knew she was helping create a new wolf? What would her mom say? Maybe she’s supposed to tell Scott Liam would be better off dead. But that doesn’t feel quite true.

Isaac’s driving fast. He doesn’t try and interrupt her thoughts for a while. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asks at last. “Or do you not want to be part of this.”

“I do,” she says. “No, I do.” Liam seems so young. But Scott was that young too, when he’d been turned. And her parents were ready to kill him for it, for like a year. Until Mom had died first.

“Should I take you home?” Isaac asks again, checking.

She chews on her lip. “No, I’m coming. Someone should… we need to be making note of everything Deaton says about the bite and observing the transformation, to update the bestiary with.”

“Stiles can help with that,” Isaac nods. “He notices everything.”

Stiles. Derek will be there. Derek, who bit her mom. Scott bit someone this time - for better reasons, of course, but he still bit someone and Liam’s fifteen and he’ll be a werewolf for the rest of his life. People like who her parents used to be will be trying to kill him before he even knows who they are. And Derek did that to Isaac - and Erica, and Boyd - without even telling him any of the downsides.

“Do you wish Derek hadn’t changed you?” she asks, her voice sounding somehow far away from her.

Isaac glances over at her. “When?” he says.

“Just. Always.”

“Oh.” Isaac fixes his eyes back on the road. “I don’t know.”

“Should Scott have let Liam just…” she begins.

Isaac’s already nodding. “Yeah. I don’t know,” he says again. “I think Scott tends to be on the side of, being alive is better than not.”

“Maybe,” Allison says. “But is it? Should he get to make that choice?”

That earns her an expression she hasn’t seen from a while, from him. The face that means he sort of thinks this is a trick question. He answers now, though, because he trusts that it’s not. “I don’t… I don’t know. This is kind of why I was thinking you should maybe go home.”

“I don’t want to go home, I want to just. Do something that isn’t six levels of a moral dilemma.”

“Right,” Isaac says. “Yeah.” They drive for a while without talking, as Allison’s head races through what she’s supposed to be feeling. It’s a good thing, right? To save the life of a kid.

She was just a kid, though. When her mom told her if she was strong, they wouldn’t have to kill Scott. Being young hasn’t stopped any of them from needing to deal with life or death circumstances. Maybe it should, but it hasn’t so far. And she can’t blame Scott for not being able to watch Liam die. She couldn’t have done it. If he hadn’t saved Liam, she would’ve wanted him to. This is a no-win scenario, and she’s not going to let that pull them apart.

“Sometimes,” Isaac eventually says. He’s got his blinker on, waiting to turn into the parking lot.

“What?”

“Sometimes I wish he hadn’t,” he says, looking steadfastly out the windshield. “But then. If he hadn’t, who knows if I’d even be alive.”

“Alive?” Allison repeats.

“Yeah, I mean.” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know any of you, probably. I’d be still living with my dad.” That’s relatively new, him bringing his dad up in casual conversation. Allison tries not to jump on it. “I don’t know. Even if he didn’t do it for the right reasons or whatever, it kind of worked out. For me, I don’t know if Erica or Boyd would agree.”

Probably not, since they aren’t here.

That’s the end of the conversation for now. They park next to the Jeep and head for the door. Isaac lengthens his stride to get the door first and hold it for her, and Allison tries not to run to the back, where she knows everything is happening. She walks, normally. Breathes, normally. She doesn’t need to be thinking about it.

“Hey,” Stiles says when they walk in the room. He’s leaning against the wall next to Derek, watching. Liam’s on the table, and Scott’s holding his hand, and Deaton’s doing something with vials of herbs. Liam coughs again. More blood. But he’s still breathing and one of his feet twitches. This all seems, tentatively, like a good sign.

Isaac urges her closer to Scott, at the head of the table. He keeps a hand on her back, stays close. “You wanted to take notes,” he says. “For the bestiary.”

She has to clear her throat. “Right. Um. Do we know, what makes a difference to someone? If the bite takes or not?” she asks, and gets her phone out to type.

“Age,” Derek says. “The younger the better. Not like _that_ ,” he adds crossly when Stiles gives him a look.

Deaton flicks his eyes up in Derek’s direction. “Actually,” he says. “That’s not quite true.”

Scott groans and bends almost double to put his head down on the table, next to Liam’s. Their hair is nearly the same color, but only because Liam’s is dark with blood. “You mean he’s gonna die?” he says.

“No,” Deaton says, and holds up Liam’s other arm. Allison doesn’t notice what’s wrong until she realizes it’s normal. Healing, less broken. “Quite the opposite.”

“So it worked,” Derek says. He sounds sullen.

“Yes. But.” Deaton holds his finger up. “Not because of his youth. The bite of a true alpha never kills.”

Scott raises his head to stare at Deaton. There’s a long silence, because actually everyone is staring at Deaton. “What?” Stiles finally says. Of course Stiles is the one who breaks the silence.

“You weren’t aware of this?” Deaton asks the room in general.

“No,” Scott says.

“Conveniently left that out, huh?” Stiles says to Derek. “That lil’ chestnut.”

“Guess so,” Derek says with a barely restrained glare.

“Oh, wait,” Stiles says, tilting his head. “Did you not know?”

“I knew,” Derek snaps.

Deaton expresses his doubt with his eyebrows, and silently calls Allison’s attention to something - Liam’s chest is nearly whole now. Shaped the way chests are meant to be shaped again. “It starts at the heart,” he says, his tone neutral. Educational. “Radiates outward. Extremities will be the last to heal.”

Allison’s typing, nodding. “Is it like a snakebite?” she asks. “If it’s a bite on the arm, can you cut the arm off and not turn?”

“A lot like that,” Deaton nods. “You have less than a minute. Probably less than thirty seconds if it’s upper body.”

That is information she only wants for neutral reasons. Nobody tries to call her on it either, not even Derek, so Allison is able to pretend. She makes note of it, and continues to observe the healing process. Deaton looks at Scott then, leaning on the table. “Stay close,” he says. “He’ll be waking up soon, and he’ll need his pack.”

When Liam does wake up, it’s quickly and violently. He throws Scott off of him, and shoves Deaton and Isaac away and is making a break for the door - which Derek and Stiles have moved to block - when he has to stop. Allison’s knife at his throat doesn’t leave him much room for movement. “Whoa,” he says, his eyes locked on hers.

Allison doesn’t think it’d be helpful to tell him she’s seen his bones, but that’s what she thinks of. The way he looked hanging from Deucalion’s hand. She doesn’t want to hurt him. “Relax,” she says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Liam says, with a fierce glare. “Fucking kidnapped by a bunch of juniors and some random guy and the vet. I’m so relaxed.”

That’s funny. Allison consciously smiles, trying to put him at ease. “I meant more as in don’t push your luck, with me,” she says. “Sit down. Let us explain.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll stab you.”

Liam snorts.

“She’s serious,” Isaac volunteers, as he pulls himself back up and lends Scott a hand too. “I’d show you the scars, but. We don’t keep scars.”

That wording strikes Allison as odd. But she doesn’t get the chance to interrogate it because Liam pushes her knife away and checks his ankle for something and doesn’t find it. His chest starts heaving more intensely, and she knows now the signs of a panic attack well enough to head one off. She’s had some practice.

First thing she does is draw blood, grabbing his hand and slicing across the pad of his middle finger. “What the hell,” Liam demands.

Allison puts her knife away then, back in its sheath on her leg, and holds the cut finger gingerly, so he can watch it heal. Which he does, eyes wide. He forgets to breathe. “Look,” she says then, and lets go. “We’re not bullshitting you. Something’s happening. Let us explain.”

With a scowl, Liam agrees to listen. Allison hangs back while they explain. She sits on one of the exam tables up against the wall, and Stiles very casually leans against one of her legs. At any other time, she wouldn’t think anything of it except for how quiet he’s being. Stiles isn’t quiet a lot, and he never passes up the chance to explain things. So that’s when it occurs to Allison, then, that she might not be doing as well as she thought she was doing.

Liam’s first reaction is sort of endearing. “I need to call my mom,” he says. “And tell her where I am.”

“Bathroom,” Deaton points. “No window.”

Isaac and Scott share a look, and Isaac moves forward. “I’ll go with you,” he says. It seems like it might mean something, that Liam doesn’t argue with him. Allison doesn’t know what. But she knows Isaac can handle a little brand new, still pretty maimed werewolf, so she lets that not be what she’s thinking about right now.

“Nice going, Derek,” Stiles says. “Way to give us less than nothing to go on. Love that.”

Derek frowns defensively. “My family died when I was sixteen,” he says. “It’s not like they were giving me all the tactical information they had.”

“Then why are you acting like you should be charge, if you don’t know anything?” Allison demands. She thinks, too, about saying how much she knew at sixteen. She could’ve led the Argent family. But that’s not normal, she remembers, it’s not what kids are supposed to be doing.

Apparently, Derek’s mind is going somewhere similar. “Wow,” he says. “Sorry I had a happy family until your aunt killed them.”

“I’m sorry too,” Allison answers. The words whip out automatically, without much thought, so it takes a second for her to realize why the room has gone silent. No one can look at her, except for Scott. Scott’s looking at her with just total understanding and a kind of pride. But she doesn’t want to think about that either. Fuck, there are so many things she’s trying not to think about that she ends up not thinking about much at all.

In the end, Stiles breaks this silence too. “You should probably leave,” he says to Derek. “It’s actually kind of weird that you’re here, since we’re all in our-”

“You drove me here!” Derek protests, turning to face Stiles with the full force of his fury.

Stiles straightens up, and also in the process puts himself more securely in front of Allison. “You can run, or something,” he says, throwing his hand out demonstratively. “You’ll be fine.”

Derek looks around, like he expects someone to take his side. When he meets Allison’s eyes, she gives him nothing. Finally, he looks back at Stiles again. “Do you _want_ me to go?” he asks specifically.

Stiles looks at Allison, for whatever reason.

“Yes,” Scott answers. “We’re fine without you.” Which seems a little harsh, but Allison isn’t going to lose any sleep over someone being too harsh with Derek Hale. Even if she’s trying to play nice for Stiles’ sake.

The full moon is only two days later. Scott’s so worried about Liam and how he’ll handle the moon that he can’t bring himself to just go talk to him, so Allison handles that. The day of, she excuses herself from French and heads to the cafeteria. It’s Liam’s lunch period; she finds him and his friend and kneels next to their table.

“Hey,” the friend says.

“Hey,” Allison agrees, and looks at Liam. “Can we talk for a sec?”

Liam nods, and lets her take him off to one side, away from everyone else. “Is this about the full moon?” he asks the moment they’re alone, quiet enough that no one else will hear. He’s got a little more sense than Scott did at his age.

“Yes,” Allison nods. “You’re going to shift. It’ll probably go better if you’re around the rest of them.”

“Them,” Liam says. “Not us? You’re not…”

“No,” Allison shakes her head. Too fast, she thinks, but it’s too late.

Liam frowns, tilts his head and looks at her chest. Before she can feel ogled, he says, “Whoa, what was that? Your chest is booming.”

“Don’t stare at people’s chests,” Allison tells him, and Liam seems to realize what he’s also staring at. He turns bright red, and his eyes return to hers. “It’s my heartbeat,” she adds. “You can hear them now. Try not to just ask people, though, it’ll give you away.” It’s hard not to smile as she gives that advice. Mostly at how Liam seems almost bashful.

“Sorry,” he says with more of a glare. “It got loud, though. Are you… scared of us?”

Allison hesitates. The kid’s a heart rate monitor and he’s going to assume the worst. Lying won’t work, so she tells a lot of the truth. “No. I’m not. But I’ve seen what happens when someone gets bitten and loses control.”

Liam nods solemnly. “Okay. I can come over after dinner.”

“Will your mom let you spend the night?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay. Scott’s. Tonight.”

He nods some more, then asks, “You’re gonna be there too, right?”

Allison doesn’t know when he started caring about her involvement, but she will be there so it doesn’t cost her anything to nod.

“God!” Scott moans into his arms when she tells him, his head down on the lunch table. “Why does he like you so much? You pulled a knife on him.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows in a way that lets Allison know he’s about to say something awful. “Maybe he imprinted on her. Like Twilight,” he suggests, and takes a decisive bite of a Dorito that crumbles in his hand, ruining the moment. “That’d be about par for the course, disgustingness-wise.”

“Right,” Isaac says. “Only age-appropriate imprinting here, right?” then he takes a large, comfortable bite, staring at Stiles confrontationally. Scott’s face is stony. It’s a real mark of growth, Allison reflects, that Isaac is willing to annoy Scott for a joke. And a mark of how close he and Stiles are that Stiles only argues the point for ten minutes afterwards.

“He likes you too,” Allison tells Scott finally, circling back to the point. “I was just there.”

Scott doesn’t seem convinced, but Allison knows she’s right. And when Liam shows up just before dark, already shaking and clammy, it’s Scott who calms him with his touch with Allison and Isaac in the hall behind him. “Hey,” Scott says the moment he opens the door and sees him. He puts both of his hands on Liam’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be fine. How are you feeling?”

“Like I could punch a hole in the planet,” Liam says.

“Yeah.” She can hear the smile in Scott’s voice. “You’re gonna eat something, and then we’re gonna go down into the basement so you don’t tear up my mom’s couch.”

Liam glares at him. “And lock me up like a dog?”

“No,” Scott assures him. “I’ll be right there with you. Isaac too. It’s easier as a group.”

“As a pack?” Liam suggests. Seems he might find the word as dumb as Allison still secretly does.

But Scott just pulls him inside and shuts the door. “Exactly! Do you want to put your stuff upstairs?”

Allison gives Liam an awkward kind of wave, but she leaves most of the tour to Scott and Isaac. She and Stiles wait in the kitchen, snacking from the giant amount of food they’ve assembled for the werewolves. They’re the human contingent, she thinks. Squishy. Fragile. And then she thinks also about how great it is that Stiles only has his eyes and nothing else to judge her with.

“How many of these have you been around for?” he asks.

“None,” she says. “You?”

“Scott,” Stiles says, like the obvious fact that it is. “It didn’t go well, exactly.”

“Did it not?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “He tried to kill me and ran out into the woods all night.”

Allison doesn’t know if she ever knew that information, but it feels new now. “Oh,” she says. “Okay. Well. It can only go better.”

“I feel like it could also go one worse way,” Stiles says.

“Scott won’t let him kill anyone.”

Stiles goes on a whole face journey about this - like obviously he trusts Scott, but there’s not a whole lot Scott could do, he thinks, if a brand new wolf wants to kill.

“He’s a true alpha,” Allison says, and Stiles sighs.

“Yeah, but even we don’t really know what that means. Aside from the bullshit he half-implied to try and scare Deucalion out of bothering us, we don’t really know, what the fuck he can really do and what he just thinks he can do.”

Allison shrugs. “Well, it seems like maybe what he believes he can do affects what he actually can do.”

“Right,” Stiles sighs. “Because we live in the stupidest possible universe. Jesus. Okay.”

There’s a question Allison wants the answer to, but it takes a second for her to decide to ask. “Did Derek have any, like. Advice?”

“Are you kidding? Of course not. With his like, elementary school werewolf education. All of his family were born wolves, so.” Stiles shrugs with his whole body, and then continues when he can’t help himself. “Plus he and Scott are still pretending they hate each other so. He’s staying the hell away from here. Any chance I can get you to leave?”

“Nope.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

He means to sound disappointed, which would lead Allison to believe he doesn’t want to be here either, but he also enthusiastically feeds Liam some of everything here. He’s the one who leads the way down to the basement, once it’s dark, too. “Here it is,” he says, his tone cross. “Make yourself home. Mi casa es su casa, of course. Or, Scott’s casa.”

“Casa de Scott,” Isaac agrees, and he and Allison share a call and response pair of smiles. He’s at her side, hovering and chewing on his finger.

Liam is not amused. He’s strung tight, nervous, looking at everything and seeing nothing. “So we’re just sitting down here?” he asks.

“Well,” Scott says. “We have some…”

“Chains,” Isaac volunteers.

Scott drops his head and sighs. “Okay,” he says. “That sounds a lot worse than it is. But your prey instinct will be super strong, at first, and we have to make sure you don’t try and tear my throat out.”

Can he not see how Liam’s about to buzz right out of his skin? Liam’s listening but he’s jittering, shifting from one foot back to the other, and Scott doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Allison looks at Isaac for backup on this, and he meets her eyes with understanding.

“Hey,” Isaac says then, and steps forward. Scott’s relieved, he threads an arm around Isaac’s waist immediately and hugs him close. It’s a full moon, the whole pack is touchy. “It’s just a precaution. I tried to kill my best friend, on my first full moon.”

“Me too,” Scott nods brightly, and then notices the panic on Liam’s face about it. “It’ll be okay, we won’t let you do that.”

“But it’s alright to be scared,” Allison adds. She knows the feeling.

“I’m not scared,” Liam says, and Allison prepares to entertain this lie but then he says, “I’m freaking pissed off! This is bullshit. I don’t want to turn into a wolf, and I don’t want to hurt people. I mean, not people that didn’t do anything.”

Stiles snorts. Allison can hear him in her head. _Okay, I like this kid_.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, calm in the face of Liam’s anger. “I get that, but. You won’t. That’s why we’re here. Okay? You’re gonna lose your mind in about ten minutes, so will you please just let us…”

Liam’s nodding before Isaac’s done talking, so Scott and Isaac loop the chain around Liam’s middle and to one of the structural poles of the house. They really must believe they can keep him control, Allison thinks. And she trusts them. But she doesn’t mind Stiles leaning closer to her, as they watch.

When Liam’s locked in, Scott sits in front of him and holds his hands and ends up talking for several hours straight. Their eyes flash in response to each other, Liam’s gold calming at Scott’s silver.

In the end, most of the first couple hours is spent describing the plot of _Love, Actually_. Liam makes the mistake of saying, in anger and confusion, that of course he’s never seen it, and Scott takes that as an opening to explain the entire plot, beat by beat. He’s talking until he falls asleep, holding Liam’s hand still. Liam looks kind of relieved.

“What time is it?” he asks quietly.

“Little past midnight,” Stiles says, checking his watch.

“If I bring you food,” Allison says, “do you promise not to try and break out and maul me?”

Liam nods. Isaac has stretched out next to him, his arm over Liam’s shoulders. He’s dozing off too, head falling down towards his chest. If they’re falling asleep, Allison figures she can be a little more relaxed.

She brings Liam a roast beef sandwich and jerky and chips, and she brings Stiles a Red Bull and Cheetos. “You’re making a strong case for being my favorite person in the world,” Stiles says, snatching his food from her.

“I do my best,” Allison answers, and approaches Liam. He’s still chained to the post, he’s surrounded by the two people she loves most in the world. She has good reason to feel safe - or at least relatively so - but it still feels like a kind of betrayal. Helping this werewolf baby. Her mom would be - well, but her mom is dead. So. Allison doesn’t need to keep thinking about her. She sits on the floor next to Scott, her foot near Isaac’s. Stiles stays somewhere behind her.

Liam eats half of the sandwich in three bites, and then looks up at her. “Thanks,” he says.

“Sure.”

“You don’t have a movie you want to get into?” he asks after a second.

She snorts, but before she answers Stiles cuts in. “No, I’m next in the rotation,” he says. “Let’s start with Spider-man’s relationship to Venom.”

“I’ve never seen any of those,” Liam says without looking up.

“Do not,” Allison preempts Stiles, “start to explain the plot of Spider-man. Bad enough we got Scott and his lecture on what he calls the best Christmas movie of all time.”

Stiles plops down on the other side of Scott, further away from Liam but in Allison’s field of vision. “As if,” he scoffs.

“Not when _Die Hard_ exists,” Allison agrees.

“Thank you! Exactly! Oh my god. When Scott wakes up I’m telling him I have a new best friend.”

Liam’s quiet while he eats, but when he’s almost finished Allison finds him watching her closely. It takes a few seconds to notice; she’s watching Isaac sleep, and being caught makes her feel like a creep. “Hey,” Liam says then, and they make eye contact. “Is this how they handle every full moon?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Mostly we just stay in and avoid stress. It’ll get easier for you in a couple months.”

Liam nods. “So they’re wolves,” he says. “He’s the best friend. What are you? Why are you involved in all of this?”

What a question. Allison bites her lip. “Uh,” she says, and it isn’t much of a choice. She has to tell him. It’ll be worse if she hides it. “I’m a hunter. My family historically hunted werewolves,” she finally says. “Some of them still do, I guess. But my dad and me stopped, after last year.”

“What happened last year?” Liam pushes.

Allison releases her lip before she can draw blood. “My aunt, grandpa, and mom died,” she says.

It’s hard to breathe past the lump in her throat. She pointedly does not fidget with the napkin she’s holding, doesn’t let her heart respond and tries her best to keep Scott and Isaac from waking up at her distress. But they’re not the only people here. Stiles speaks up. “Hey, Allison-”

“It’s fine,” she says over him.

“Okay! Sorry.”

An apology means she’s not keeping that great of a lid on it. Fuck. She looks at Liam next, to call him on any pity he’s attempting to feel. But there’s none of that. He has another question. “What happened?”

“Wolves happened,” Stiles says, and cracks open his Redbull. Strangely, the callousness makes Allison feel a little better. It’s true.

“Then why the hell are you here?” Liam asks, a frown on his face.

“Because you guys aren’t responsible for-” she begins.

“You should hate us. You should be mad,” he continues. Like she needs to be told that.

Allison’s a fast study, that’s one of her foremost traits, so she’s never forgotten how to sound mean - or rather, maybe she’s never remembered how to sound nice. “You’re one to talk,” she retorts. “I know why you got kicked out of your old school.”

“Whoa, what?” Stiles asks.

Liam’s face flushes. “Yeah,” he says. “But I went to anger management, alright. I’m better.”

“Convincing,” Stiles says, with a nod.

Liam just scowls at him, though, and finishes eating. It’s taking a little while; he can only use one hand because Scott’s resting on the other one, gently snoring and curled mostly onto the ground. Isaac is listing to one side, still very firmly asleep. Allison touches his foot with her toe.

“Did you get like, revenge or something?” Liam asks.

Allison has no idea how to answer that.

Stiles snorts. “You could say that. She almost killed every wolf in the fucking county. Including these two.”

“Hey,” Liam says then. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Allison snaps.

“No, like. You’re…” He touches her and she flinches, but he’s just putting a couple fingers on the back of her hand, drawing attention to the fact that she’s shaking.

Allison pulls her hand away and folds it under her leg. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she says, not able to meet Liam’s gaze. “I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Liam’s tone is urgent, but also a little shy somehow. He’s trying to catch her attention; she won’t let him. “Allison,” he says, and something about the way he says it sounds just like Scott always has. “Have you been to therapy?”

“No,” she scoffs. “I’m fine.”

“Oh,” Stiles says with something like dawning horror. “Really? I guess I assumed. I mean, Dad made _me_ go after…” And then he trails off because he doesn’t want to give the kid his backstory. No, the battle-ready part of Allison’s mind tells her, he just wants to talk about hers.

“My Dad didn’t bring it up,” she says.

Stiles is giving her an insightful look. “Not really the therapy type, huh.”

“Therapy isn’t going to help me not kill my friends,” Allison says. She feels brittle.

“No,” Liam says. “But it’ll help you deal with everything else.”

“I don’t need help,” she says.

“You’re bleeding,” he says in response, and Allison realizes she’s been digging her nails into the base of her thumb. There are red crescent marks when she unfurls her hand, and one is dark with a drop of blood. “Hey,” he says. “Give me your hand.”

She does cautiously. She doesn’t want to, of course. It’s just not a great idea to provoke a new wolf on a full moon, that’s all. The moment they touch, there’s a sensation a lot like being pulled, a kind of physical tug in her very muscles. And it leaves behind something a lot more like peace. The little marks on her hand don’t hurt. Allison manages a deep breath.

Liam grimaces. “What the hell?” he asks no one in particular, and takes his hand away to shake it out. “Ow.”

“Oh,” Allison says. “You can take other people’s pain. Scott must’ve forgotten to mention that.”

“Oh,” Liam echoes. “Okay.” And then he reaches back out and takes her hand with intention.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m not in pain.”

“You’re something,” he insists.

She notices, then, that his hand is fully human, no trace of the thick points of claws. “Hold on,” she says then. “You’re not unusually good at self control.”

“Not really,” Liam agrees.

“So why aren’t you turning, even a little bit?” Allison looks at Stiles. “Scott almost killed you. That’s like. Actually impossible. There’s no way Liam’s just okay.”

“So what’s the difference?” Stiles says. Finishing the thought for her, like he does for Lydia too.

Allison frowns and shuts her eyes, trying to remember from the bestiary anything that might be helpful. “Uh, difference is that Scott’s a true alpha?” she asks.

“I hate that,” Stiles says disparagingly. “I hope that’s not it.”

“Okay, well, what else could it be?” Allison asks, and looks back at Liam. Isaac’s arm is loose around his shoulders, Scott’s still holding his hand. “Was he alone?” she asks Stiles. “Scott. On his first full moons.”

“Yeah…”

Allison pulls Isaac’s arm off of Liam, her heart catching in her throat as she leans closer to them to do so. Isaac wakes when she touches him. “Huh?” he grunts, and sits up straighter.

“Move away for a second,” Allison tells him, and Isaac obeys. Liam still looks like himself, a little crease between his eyebrows as he tries to follow what she’s doing.

Stiles crawls over Scott to do the same thing, catching onto her idea immediately. He pries Scott’s hand off Liam, and then lifts Scott’s face and moves him by the head out of Liam’s range.

It only takes a couple seconds for Liam’s eyes to go gold. “Whoa,” he says. “Shit. This feels… bad.”

Scott stirs then, and pushes himself up. “Hey,” he frowns, and reaches out for Liam’s hand again. “Hey,” he says again, sleepily. “It’s okay.”

Liam calms down so quickly, it’s almost unbelievable. “No way,” Stiles says quietly, and pulls Scott’s hand away again.

“Don’t,” Liam says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Isaac,” Allison says, and Isaac puts his arm across Liam’s chest, like a seatbelt. Liam presses his lips together and inhales deeply through his nose. His eyes fade again. “So it’s not Scott in particular,” she says.

“What’s not me?” Scott asks, and when she doesn’t answer he rolls over into her leg, benignly searching for attention.

Isaac looks over at Liam then, inspecting his face closely. “This helps?” he asks, and when Liam nods he leans in closer, securing his arm back around Liam’s shoulders again. Isaac tilts their heads together, too. He has to lean down; he’s so much taller, and Liam relaxes right into him.

“Allison,” Scott says from the ground. “What’s going on?”

“I think touch is an anchor,” Allison says.

“That is some creepy hive mind shit,” Stiles says. “And probably right.”

Allison looks down at Scott. It’s probably an awful angle, but he’s just grinning up at her, his eyes mostly shut. “Cool,” he says, and curls up around her. “Does this mean we can go sleep, in a bed?”

“As long as someone sticks with him,” Allison says. “I think so.”

“We can share the couches,” Isaac says to Liam.

“Bed?” Scott says to Allison with his little smile.

“And here I am. Fifth wheel,” Stiles says morosely. “What about me, huh?”

“Air mattress on the floor,” Scott says.

Stiles sighs so deeply, and sighs again as Scott pulls himself up to unlock Liam’s chains. “Fine, I guess,” Stiles says.

“Please, you sleep on the regular old floor half the time anyways,” Scott says. He takes a second, as he and Isaac unwind the chains, to press his palm into Liam’s shoulder. Reassurance. “Look, I’ll give you the good pillow.”

“Will you?” Stiles demands. “Really? For once in your stupid life?”

The two of them lead the way up the stairs, bickering all the way, and Allison follows them. Isaac and Liam are last on the way up, because Liam needs a shadow and Isaac knows how to do that better than anything else. Scott gets them sheets for the couch and they head down together to make up the couches, and then Stiles and Scott argue through the whole process of making up the air mattress.

For all Stiles’ martyr complex, Allison’s the one who feels like a fifth wheel at the moment. It’s not bad. She goes to the bathroom, and then heads downstairs to check on the other two boys.

“-you and Allison?” Liam’s saying when she’s on the last few steps, and Allison freezes at the sound of her name. For a moment she’s sure she’s been caught, but then Isaac answers.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you guys, like…”

“No,” Isaac says.

“Oh. So her and Scott?”

Isaac is silent for a second. “Uh, they used to date,” he says, voice rising at the end, like it’s a sentence he doesn’t get to finish.

“But now…” Liam prompts.

“Why?” Isaac asks. “Do _you_ like her?”

“No,” Liam says with undeniable finality. “No, it’s just. You three seem super, like. Close.”

Do they? Are they? Allison finds herself so invested in Isaac’s answer, she leans forwards a little bit, a hand on the wall. “Uh,” Isaac finally says. “I guess. They really helped me, last year.”

“Last year as in when Allison’s family died?”

“Couple months after,” Isaac says. “She’d stabbed me, I was pretty sure she hated me. But. Then she and Scott took me in when I had nowhere else to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know that I’m supposed to be telling you all of this…” Isaac begins hesitantly, and then answers with a sigh. “Okay, so Derek did kill her grandpa and that was fine because nobody really was upset. The guy was a psycho. But Derek also sort of… was mixed up in how her mom died. And his uncle killed Kate. Allison’s aunt. So she was real pissed at Derek.”

“No shit. Is that why Scott’s not talking to him?”

“Kind of, yeah. And I was part of Derek’s pack then, so I figured it’d make sense if she never forgave me, but.” Allison doesn’t have super senses but she can almost hear Isaac’s shrug. “She did. And now I live with her, basically. When I’m not here. So.”

“You live in two places,” Liam says dubiously.

“Well, yeah.”

“And you think any of that explains the three of you, your whole thing?” Liam sounds amused.

“Alright,” Isaac says. “This isn’t… go brush your teeth or whatever. Please. You can yell if you feel weird.”

“Fine. But only because you said please.”

Allison waits to hear the bathroom door close to take the last two steps, and she’s barely on the floor before Isaac’s on her, wrapping her in a hug. “Hey,” she says in surprise, and reaches up to double her arms around his neck.

“Was that okay to say?” he asks, his voice kind of tickling her.

“What?” she says in confusion, and then it clicks. Oh. Duh. He knew she was listening. “Yeah, that was all fine.”

Isaac hangs onto her tighter, squeezes her tight enough to lift her a little bit. “Okay. You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

He nods into her, takes a deep breath like he’s breathing her in. Right, she thinks. Full moon. Touchy.

Allison holds him tighter, laces one hand in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m glad,” she says. “That we’re…”

“Me too,” he says before she can finish. And that’s good, in a way. That saves her from having to figure out how to finish this sentence. But now she’s thinking about Liam’s question, about how Isaac lives two places and didn’t think she’d forgive him, and something about that doesn’t feel right anymore. He deserves know, to have certainty.

Stiles is asleep before she makes it back upstairs, snoring on the mattress with a blanket wound around him in a way that seems anatomically impossible. Allison smiles at him when she sees him, and Scott’s making the exact same face.

“Will you be mourning the loss of the good pillow?” Allison asks.

“Nah,” Scott says. “I’ve got you.”

It melts her just as it always has. He loves her. It’s easier than anything to fall into his bed and let him smother her with the most affectionate hug. She can feel him hiding his smile in her shoulder.

And like, alright. It’s easy, it’s been easy, and she hasn’t interrogated it, sure. She understands everything she did until now. But she’s also thinking, for the first time, that she’s been ignoring something. They all have been.

“Scott,” she says then.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever miss how we were? Before everything with my grandfather.”

Scott spreads the hands of one finger out over her side, holding her with such firm solidity that she understands how touch could be an anchor. It’s anchoring her now. “I mean, in a way,” he says. “But I also really like how we are.”

“You do?” she asks.

“Yeah, we’re grown up,” he says. “It’s like, so much deeper now.”

That’s true. And now somehow, what they are includes Isaac. But Allison hesitates before bringing him up though, because she can’t shake the feeling that it’s intrusion in some way. Or taboo. Like caring for wolves. She wonders if she’ll ever do something that doesn’t feel like it’s crossing a line.

“What?” Scott prompts. “What is it?”

“Isaac,” she says simply.

Scott pushes himself up to look her in the eyes. “Isaac,” he repeats. “Like he’s a problem?”

“No, no, never,” she assures him, and they settle in next to each other, lying in each others’ arms. “He’s not a problem,” she says. “But I feel like he’s…” She’s thinking as she’s talking, working this through for the first time. Competition isn’t exactly the right word, he isn’t for either of them. He’s not ruining it, or even making it better - it’s a whole new thing, with him. Growing, like he said. “Part of this discussion,” she ends up saying, inadequately.

“Totally,” Scott agrees, but she can tell he’s already half asleep.

“Whatever,” she finally says. “I’m overthinking it.”

“We can talk later,” he assures her. “Really.”

He means it, she knows he does. But she also sort of doesn’t want to talk about it at all, so it’s hard to feel any sort of way about this. It was easier to just not think about it. “Okay,” she says faintly, and shuts her eyes. This isn’t tonight’s problem. Tonight, they figured something new out about the wolves. That’s got to be enough.

“So hold on,” Lydia says. “Does it have to be the touch of an alpha?”

Allison shakes her head. “I don’t think so. It worked when it was just Isaac.”

“Just Isaac?” Kira asks, with an innocent little eyebrow raise. But Allison has learned to fear that expression the most, from Kira.

“What do you mean?” Allison frowns. They’re on Lydia’s bed, ostensibly studying though she suspects that’s only something they agreed to for her benefit. She hasn’t seen Kira or Lydia study so far this year.

“Well,” Kira shrugs, and looks at Lydia.

“I think what Kira’s trying to say is that you often use minimizing language about him. But then, he lives with you. So it’s hard to know exactly what I’m supposed to be understanding, here,” Lydia says, as she begins to fill out a section of her bestiary with what Allison’s said.

Allison frowns. “Well, you’re not supposed to be understanding anything in particular, here.”

“Aren’t we?” Lydia inquires. Her and Kira ave both separately mastered malicious innocence.

Allison regards them with suspicion. “Okay,” she says. “It feels like there’s something you’re not saying, and I’d like to officially say you have my permission to just fucking tell me already.”

Both of them smile. “Okay,” Lydia says. “I’ll take this. Ally, when are you going to admit you have two boyfriends?”

“I don’t,” Allison reacts instinctively. And then she thinks about it, both of the other girls waiting and giving her the time to do just that. “Do I?” she finally asks.

“You kind of do,” Kira says, almost apologetic.

“Really?” Allison says with kind of bewilderment. “I mean… we’re just close friends. We’d know, if we were dating, we would’ve-”

“No,” Lydia says lovingly. “ _We’re_ close friends, and we both know it. They are your life partners. Have you gone a day without seeing one or both of them? _Not_ counting your vacation to visit your dad’s family in France.”

Well, not counting that, the answer is obviously no. Isaac’s at her house right now, actually, she’s going home to him. And the two of them see Scott a lot. They have a lot of reason to! There’s everything with the alpha pack, and she and Isaac are in the same AP classes, and Dad likes cooking for people. And somehow, when she says all of this out loud to the girls, they sort of scoff at her. In their polite ways.

“Okay, look,” Lydia says, like she’s explaining something to someone very stupid. “It’s not that proximity counts for anything, in most cases. But it does for them.”

That was not the argument she expected. “What?”

“They’re werewolves!” Lydia says. “And they’re humans. Two fundamentally social animals. And they’re all over you. They love you.”

Allison frowns at her. “And that’s it? I have no say?”

“Obviously that’s not what I mean,” Lydia says, and finally looks up at her. “Don’t tell me you seriously haven’t let yourself think about this.” She looks at Allison, and then at Kira. “She does this.”

“I do what?” Allison demands.

“Compartmentalize,” Lydia says definitively. “To avoid having to deal with this.”

“Not you too,” Allison sighs, and flops over dramatically on her side. “Liam says I need therapy.”

“I like Liam,” Kira says.

“Me too,” Lydia says. “Was this before or after he interrogated Isaac?”

“Before,” Allison answers with another sigh.

“Huh. Perceptive.”

“Okay. This is not about Liam,” Allison says with a frown. “And whatever misconceptions he has.”

Kira frowns back. “Uh… no offense but you definitely need therapy, after everything.”

“It’s okay to have feelings,” Lydia adds. “And it’s okay to be conflicted about how you feel, but you can’t just deny it forever. We won’t let you.”

This is not going according to plan. And yet, Allison reflected, turning onto her back and staring at the ceiling, it’s also not bad. It’s something special, to let someone know her. And she’s got so many people that know her. Lydia and Kira, yes, but also Scott and Isaac and sometimes her dad and Jackson in his way and even, somehow, this new kid Liam. They know her, it’s not a threat. And that’s connected, the way Scott and Isaac know her and also each other. She’s just been keeping them in their own little boxes because she didn’t know what else to do.

“I compartmentalize,” Allison says experimentally.

“Like a champ,” Lydia agrees.

“I’ve sectioned off how I feel. So I haven’t had to deal with knowing that they both love me, because…”

“Because it’s a lot,” Kira says. “After your mom. You’re still trying to rationalize it.”

“Am I supposed to stop? Rationalizing?”

“I don’t think so,” Kira says. “That’s impossible.”

“No,” Lydia agrees. “You can’t, on some level maybe you’ll always be trying to make it make sense. But you have to let them in on that thought process. It’s not healthy to withhold so much. And if you tell them-”

“-they can’t fix it,” Allison cuts her off.

Lydia gives her a look that Allison can feel even while still looking at the ceiling. “No,” she says, “but they deserve the chance to try.”

“On that note,” Kira begins in a sort of leading tone. There’s a pregnant pause. “Isn’t there something you’ve been meaning to say to her?” Kira says then, clearly to Lydia.

Allison sits up, drawing her eyebrows together. “What?”

Lydia’s pink-cheeked. “Well,” she says shortly. “I just… wanted to make sure you know how sorry I am about the banshee stuff. I should’ve told you, even though you couldn’t help. You deserved to know.”

“Okay. I’m not mad.”

“You should be,” Kira says, lovingly alarmed.

That’s not the concern Allison’s dealing with at the moment. She puts her hand over Lydia’s leg on the bed and says, “I love you. I’m not mad. We can talk if… y’know. But.”

“But right now you need to go tell the boys you love them?” Lydia suggests.

“Well. I’ll broach the topic. I feel like there’s more than one conversation there.”

“More than one partner, so it makes sense,” Kira says, a sparkle in her eye.

Allison has to smile, very annoyed. She reaches out for Kira then, squeezes her leg. “I love you,” she says to her too. “You’re both very perceptive and geniuses.”

“You’re gonna kill it,” Lydia promises. “In every possible good way and none of the bad ones.”

What a thing to say. Allison hugs them both goodbye and drives home and when she gets home it’s kind of hard to not say everything she’s thinking. Luckily, she’s had very good training.

She kicks her shoes off at the door. Dad’s still up; she sees his light on in the study down the hall. She just calls out to him as she passes. “Home, night.”

“Night, Ally,” he calls back. There’s trust now, no interrogation.

She heads for Isaac’s room, not hers. Still has her jacket on, still feels cold from the nip in the air outside. To be polite, she knocks. “Yeah,” he says, and she comes in. Without stopping, she walks right up to his bed and falls in next to him. He’s been here for months now. The bed smells like him, welcomes her in like he does. It’s comfort, and security, and so warm she’s abruptly sleepy.

“Hey,” Isaac says, surprised and smiling by the sound of it. He rolls over towards her and waits for her to move before he does. Allison doesn’t move tho. She stays where she is, curled up amongst his blankets. And after a second, Isaac puts his arm over her. Hesitantly, like he doesn’t know if he should. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just.” She likes being this close to him, nestled in against his chest. She likes being able to feel his heart like he can hear hers. It’s even, slow. He’s calm. She can only assume he feels pretty secure, even though she hasn’t told him shit. “I know I don’t talk enough,” she says.

“What?”

“I don’t tell you anything.”

“You don’t tell anyone anything.”

Allison smiles. “Well.”

He shifts then, to hold her better, and sort of plants his nose in her hair and takes a deep breath. “Did Lydia say something?” he asks.

“You just smelled her,” Allison complains, and then admits, “Yes.”

“Well, what’d she’d say?”

“Nothing I didn’t know already, on some level. I just…” She shouldn’t say this lying down. This is a sitting up conversation. She pulls herself up, and he sits up too. He’s wearing one of Scott’s shirts, she can’t help but notice. His hair’s mussed from the pillow. Comfortable. She looks him in the eyes. “Hey,” she says. “You know I stopped blaming you forever ago, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods with a frown.

“Okay. Because when Liam was talking to you, it seemed like… I dunno, I just realized I’d never said it like that. So.”

Isaac looks at her like she’s missing something. “You didn’t have to say it,” he says. “You showed it, you… stabbed Derek, for starters. And before that when you bitched out Harris. And like every day since then. You make it super clear.”

“I do,” she says skeptically. “Huh.”

“Is that news?”

“Not exactly, but. I’m being told a lot of things about myself tonight that are, in retrospect totally true and also things I’ve never thought about, so.”

Isaac reaches for her. That’s not new, he does that a lot. But looking at things holistically,letting herself - as stupid as this sounds but - _feel_ , it’s proof. Like Lydia said, he loves her. He trusts her, somehow, after everything. He takes one of her hands. “Well. You know I stopped blaming you too, right? For everything with the knives.” A smirk is growing on his face.

“Alright,” Allison sighs.

He leans towards her, hugs her with one arm as he holds himself up with the other. “It’s okay,” he says. “We’re good. Thanks.”

“Yeah. Of course. You can ask me, or. If there’s anything you need to hear, just to hear it, I’ll say it. Okay? I’m here.”

“Okay.”

She could add it in now. Tell him she loves him. It’s true, it feels right. She’s almost ready. But Isaac speaks again. “Look. I’ve never asked you to forgive Derek, okay? And I never would.”

“But?”

“No but. I’m just saying. If you’re playing nice for me, you don’t have to. I don’t know that I’d ever forgive him, if.”

Allison pulls back and frowns. “You forgave Jackson, like, really fast.”

“Well, but Jackson was like, legit out of control. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

Unlike Derek. Who knew exactly what he was doing. God, every word she shares with him is such a betrayal of that. Allison knows for sure she’s been compartmentalizing that too. But for now she just answers Isaac. “I’m not forgiving him. And I’m not playing nice for you.”

Isaac nods. “Stiles, then?”

Obviously, yes. She’s doing it for Stiles. “He’s just so bummed,” Allison says. “And Derek’s not…” She heaves out a deep sigh, and Isaac smiles at her so fondly. “The thing that’s so fucking frustrating is that _aside_ from killing my mom, Derek’s actually fine. Now that we’re talking. He’s like. Lame, and I dunno. Funny.” Derek’s a lot worse on paper than he ever ends up being in person. It’s that calculation that’s so hard to make. Revenge or forgiveness, her needs or her friends’. Before she has anything else to say, her phone rings.

It’s Scott, and Allison knows from the tone of his voice when he says her name what the gist is. “Allison.”

“Where do you need me?” she asks, and Isaac scrambles to his feet at the sound of her voice. Or maybe the sound of her heart.

“I don’t know, but it’s Liam.”

Allison stands up too, and asks Isaac, “Can you find Liam right now?”

He nods, shedding his shorts and pulling on jeans. “I know his scent.”

“We’ll find him,” Allison tells Scott.

“Okay. See you there.”

They hang up, and are in the car in two minutes flat. Thirty seconds spent explaining to Dad where they’re going. Isaac rolls his window all the way down, and sticks his head out the window and directs her, nose first. He takes her downtown, past Derek’s place to some abandoned parking garage. She parks on the street outside, grabs her compound bow and quiver before heading in. She takes him up the staircase, covering the front while he listens hard. They make it up to the top in one piece, find Scott standing tall in front of Liam, both of them fully transformed. Three sets of red eyes glint at him from the other end of the garage, figures silhouetted by the widely-spaced lights.

“Incoming,” Allison shouts, waits just long enough to see Scott dive and cover Liam, and she shoots a flash-bang arrow. Isaac knows to keep his eyes closed too, so he’s running while the other alphas are still stunned, holding their ears. He joins Scott in front of Liam, skidding to a stop, and Allison shoots past all of them to hit one of the twins with an arrow. It feels good, to hear them howl. It sends her blood rushing fast through her veins. This is what she’s been made for.

“Leave,” Scott roars.

The third alpha, the one that’s not the twins, snarls back. Some bald fuck. Allison wants to put out the light in his eyes. “Deucalion’s tired of waiting,” he says. “You aren’t listening.”

“No,” Scott says. “I’m not.”

“So we’re taking the runt.”

“No,” Isaac says. “You’re not.”

There’s a series of cracking type sounds, as the other alphas shift more fully. Allison advances in the moment, to close the distance between her and the boys by a few more steps. She wants clear space around her, so she can react to anyone coming. There’s a dark smear of blood on the ground near Liam, as he pulls himself to his feet. He’s not stable. His ankle doesn’t look structurally sound.

Then Scott tilts his head, curiously. His stance relaxes for a fraction of a second, and Stiles’ jeep comes barreling around the corner. The alphas have to jump out of the way. Stiles navigates around his friends, slams on the breaks just past Scott and Isaac, burning rubber, and Derek hops out.

“I’m going left,” he says to Allison, his eyes bright blue. “You go right. Take the twins out first, they’re more agile.”

“I am not taking fucking tips from you,” she snaps, an arrow nocked and pulled.

“On three,” Derek says.

She shoots the one on the left on two, so then on three she can hit the one on the right and Derek has more of a fighting chance. Scott and Isaac lunge forward to the bald guy in the center, distracting him. Allison just keeps firing arrows into the twin on her side, halting his progress dead.

Liam looks back at her, eyes desperate and bright gold. She doesn’t need him to speak; she advances, draws even with him and says, “Hang onto me, get up.”

“They’re trying to kill me,” Liam says, his voice high and tight.

“We won’t let them,” Allison promises him. He grabs onto her shoulder, pulls himself up and uses her as leverage, and she spends several precious seconds not shooting to make sure she doesn’t miss. “Can you walk yet?” she asks him.

“No, it’s…” He takes a ragged deep breath. “It really hurts.”

Allison feels a burst of frustration before something new hits her. Compartmentalizing less. He’s just a kid, this is a normal reaction. “Okay,” she says. “Stay behind me. Don’t throw my aim.” But before she has to try and take a shot with a boy holding onto her, someone else goes for it.

“Incoming,” Stiles shouts, and lobs something with his lacrosse stick, straight at the guy in the middle. It bursts on his chest and lights on impact. And Allison jumps on that chance, shoots a wolfsbane arrow straight into the center of the flames.

Fuck. The twin that was her responsibility has made it to the other wolves and plunges both sets of claws deep in Scott’s torso. Scott doesn’t scream, he never does. Allison’s ready to rush in for him, to take every knife she has and slice through anyone she needs to, to get Scott out. But Isaac’s got that under control. He kicks two of Allison’s arrows deeper into the twin, earning a few seconds, and then picks Scott up and takes off. Back past her to the stairs, and it takes just a second of eye contact for Allison to understand the plan. She throws them her keys in one motion, and Scott catches them, and Isaac keeps running.

She looks at Derek, still slugging it out with the other twin. He lands a good punch, sees they’re leaving and yells “Stiles!”

The jeep is moving again, heading for Derek, so Allison knows her job. She looks at Liam. “I need you to make it down these stairs as fast as you can,” she says. “I won’t leave you behind.”

Liam nods, and limps for the door Isaac went through. Allison covers his retreat. She watches Derek climb into the back of the jeep, grabbing hold of the frame while it’s still moving. As they drive away, tires screeching, she fires a final flash-bang. The twins are the only ones who might be able to follow; she’s pretty sure the wolf in the middle is dead.

In the stairwell, Liam’s only two flights down. When she catches up to him, she sees tears dripping off his face, but he isn’t slowing down. Then he misses a step on accident, lands hard on the bad ankle and cries out. “Just go,” he says.

“I won’t,” she answers.

“We won’t,” Isaac says from several levels down, and comes back up to meet them. “Come on,” he says, and crouches to make it easier for Liam to get on his back.

They crash down the rest of the steps, skipping two or three at a time, and stumble out onto the street. Allison’s chest feels about ready to burst, but she runs full bore at her car, sees the open back door and knows Scott’s in there. “Keys in drivers’ seat,” Isaac pants, and squeezes him and Liam into the back as she gets the car started.

Her phone rings. “Give it,” Scott says, and she blindly throws it into the back seat and then jams her foot onto the gas. Distance. They need distance and time for the boys to heal. “Hello?”

It’s Lydia, obviously. “Argent house,” she says on speaker phone.

“Yep,” Scott agrees.

“Bye.”

The car smells like blood and sweat. Her hands are shaking so hard, even clenched around the steering wheel, and her vision is blurring. “Boys,” she says, and clears her throat. “You gonna make it?”

“I’m fine,” Scott says.

“He’s coughing blood, but he’ll heal,” Isaac translates. “Liam too.”

She looks in the rearview mirror when she can, sees Isaac in the middle, holding Scott in his lap with his other arm around Liam. As she’s looking, he presses his lips into Scott’s hair.

No compartmentalizing. She’s connecting dots. And if she has boyfriends, it only serves to reason that they have each other too. Have they talked about it? Probably not, Scott would tell her. But they need to talk, all three of them, soon.

“Allison,” Scott says.

“I’m here, babe,” Allison says.

Isaac reaches over her seat to put a hand on her shoulder. An anchor. “Hope your dad’s got food for like a dozen people,” he says. And that pops the tension enough for her to breathe easy. Yes. Her dad. She’ll be safe at home. They all will be.

It’s a harrowing walk from the car to the front door. Allison helps Scott and Isaac gets Liam. “Dad!” she yells the moment they’re across the threshold. “Basement,” she adds to Isaac.

“More people coming?” Dad asks from the kitchen.

“Stiles and Derek,” Allison says. “Lydia and Kira.”

Dad joins them, and picks up Liam. “Isaac, get the door and the first-aid supplies,” he says, and Isaac obeys. “What’s your name?” Dad adds to Liam, carrying him down the basement steps.

“Now that’s something I never thought I’d see,” Scott says quietly, leaning heavily on Allison’s shoulder. He’s trying to joke, trying to make her smile even with blood on his lips. She loves him so much she would kill for him without question, but then she thinks the real test isn’t that but who she’d let live for his sake.

“Just a few more steps,” she says. “Be careful.”

The thing about the basement is that it’s not only command central and a bunker, it’s a full home emergency room too. Argents are prepared. It’s just funny that the first time it’s seen use is for the pack they moved here to kill.

Dad has Liam up on the table when they get to the bottom of the stairs, shoe off. “Wiggle your toes,” he says, and Liam does so making a face. “Now move your foot up and down. Side to side. Can you circle it?” Liam takes direction well, tear tracks drying on his face. “Okay. It’s healing. I’ll get an ice pack.”

“Wait, Dad, help,” Allison says.

Dad helps get Scott up on the table, lying flat on his back. He gives Scott’s shin a comforting pat, and then goes for the ice. Liam shifts to make room, sitting against Scott’s side. Scott grimaces as he helps her get his shirt off, and then puts an arm around Liam’s waist. “You’re gonna be okay,” Scott says.

“What about you?” Liam asks.

“I’ll _totally_ be okay,” Scott assures him.

And okay, maybe he will be. Maybe there’s the argument to be made that it’s not that big of a deal because he’ll recover. But that doesn’t really matter in the moment. Allison can’t just watch him be in pain. She holds one of his hands in hers and leans down to press their foreheads together. “You did it,” she tells him. “We’re all safe.”

Scott closes his eyes. “Okay,” he says, and lets out a breath. “Okay.”

When Isaac makes it down to join them, he’s followed by Stiles and Derek too. Derek, in her house. In the house where her mother-

“Hey,” Scott says, and squeezes her hand. “Stay with me.”

“I’m with you,” she promises. But she feels a lot more steady when Isaac comes around to join them too, putting one hand on her shoulder and the other on Scott.

“Ally,” Isaac says, and she meets his eyes. She thinks then, about what they were talking about in this house not even an hour ago. About not playing nice for his sake. That’s on his mind too, she has a feeling. And she nods. He has her back. Scott does too.

“Hey,” Scott says. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine," Allison says.

“You’re doing a lot of eye contact stuff for people who are fine.”

Isaac pointedly looks Scott in his eyes then, with love and firmness. “We’re okay,” he says. “Rest.” And that works better, probably precisely because of the rarity of Isaac laying down the law.

“I know you’re not probably jazzed to see us here,” Stiles says. “But he’s hurt too. And he helped us, so.”

Allison looks at Derek and sees blood dripping from one arm, cuts healing sluggishly. He’s not an alpha anymore; what they did to him will take longer to knit back together. “Don’t be stupid,” she says. “Lydia’s gonna be here, she’ll need you to pick on if she’s going to have her best ideas.”

“Great. Love that that’s my job,” Stiles sighs, and then bullies Derek onto one of the low benches against the wall opposite from Allison. “Sit down, idiot, before you faint.”

“You are aware that I heal, Stiles,” Derek says patiently.

“Oh no, I had no idea,” Stiles answers, ultimate sarcasm tone. His hands are on his hips. “How about this? Maybe you’re going to heal but I think you should avoid a little recreational infection on the way, how does that sound? So I’m trying to minimize your pain, so sue me.”

Isaac looks at Scott. “He’s got a point,” he says, and opens the first aid kit. Scott’s still bleeding, thick red pooling on his chest and dripping down his sides. When Isaac presses down with gauze, Scott’s eyes go silver for a second. “Sorry,” Isaac says.

“It’s okay,” Scott says, of course. That’s what he always says. Even with his hand tight around Allison’s and his jaw clenched, he’s trying to tell them everything’s fine.

Dad comes back down with an ice pack that he affixes to Liam’s ankle with a large velcro wrap. He’s got a good bedside manner. Allison watches them and thinks about when she sprained her wrist in middle school. Archery practice. Mom wanted her to get back to practice so she had, and Dad hadn’t disagreed. But when she’d been back home, struggling with her coat, Dad was the one who helped her get it off, and gotten her ice, and sat with her as she iced her wrist and watched Judge Judy.

While he’s talking to Liam - friendly, relaxed - Dad finds more wrong with him. What looks like road burn on his side and what Dad thinks is a cracked rib. Isaac gets a damp towel and takes over dabbing at the blood and cleaning asphalt crumbs out of Liam’s side, so Dad can take a look at Scott. Scott keeps wiping blood off his lips, that doesn’t seem right.

“What happened?” Dad asks then, as he feels Scott’s chest. “Alphas?”

“Yeah,” Allison says. “They went after Liam.”

Liam nods. “I was at a party downtown, and the twins just… showed up, I guess, and I left because they were obviously coming after me but I couldn’t get to my car in my time so I just called Scott.”

“That was good,” Scott said. “You should. Any time anything happens.”

“Well,” Stiles says. “You could call me. Since I’ve got a jeep.”

“Why would you be anyone’s first call? You’re the most fragile person in the pack,” Derek says. He’s holding a towel to his opposite shoulder; Allison thinks she can see blood soaking through.

Stiles frowns. “Because I’m wily,” he says. “And the vehicle. Those are the two main points.”

“Allison has a car, and also a crossbow,” Derek says.

“Oh, well I’m so sorry I can’t be Allison, our resident werewolf assassin,” Stiles says, and then seems to realize that the person responsible for her childhood is in the room.

Dad just snorts. “Few can be,” is all he says.

Allison’s a little more caught up in how Derek’s praising her. It feels strange. She wants to tell him he shouldn’t be even thinking about calling her. He doesn’t have her number or the right. But then, in the middle of this train of thought, Scott squeezes her hand. It could be that his chest hurts, as Dad pokes at it. But it might also be him noticing her mind going somewhere and stopping it. Either way, she squeezes back and doesn’t look at Derek anymore.

Lydia and Kira get there a few minutes later; they let themselves in, because Lydia’s had a key to Allison’s house for more than a year. “Everyone’s okay?” Lydia asks, and is relieved to see the answer’s yes.

“Yeah,” Allison answers. “Everyone on our side.”

“Oh,” Lydia says.

Kira nudges her. “That’s what you said, though,” she says. “That it felt like something, but not _the_ thing.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, eyebrows raised. “So you can feel death in general, not just death in the pack?”

“Maybe,” Lydia says. “Hard to say. Pack is a preposterous concept when only half the people here are wolves.”

“I didn’t come up with it!” Stiles says defensively, his voice going high.

It’s fun for them to argue, and everyone else is used to listening to them as almost background noise. Like a ceiling fan, or something. But Allison notices, after a little bit, that Liam doesn’t seem to be enjoying it. Or maybe not that’s it - it’s more like he’s not present at all.

Dad encourages everyone upstairs to get some food, once he’s determined no one will be in any permanent trouble. He herds everyone upstairs, Derek included, and Allison sticks behind to help Scott get upright. “Hey,” she says to Liam. “Can you give me a hand?”

It’s not the most subtle. Isaac gives her and Scott both looks, but he lets them have this moment Allison’s trying to engineer. Which is good. She’ll fill him in later.

In this relative privacy, Scott lets himself groan a little, as he pulls himself upright. “Is it really feeling better?” Allison asks.

“Yeah,” Scott says. “Just healing slow.” He pulls a shirt on that Isaac brought him. It’s loose on him. “What about you?” he asks Liam. “How do you feel?”

Liam hops off the table, landing on his feet gingerly. It’s been maybe a half hour since they got here, and standing doesn’t seem to hurt him anymore. “Okay,” he says. “Better.”

Scott stands up gingerly, rolls his shoulders. “Really, dude?” he asks then, looking over at Liam. “You seem a little out of it.”

Of course he knows exactly what she was hoping to talk to Liam about. She loves Scott more every second, anchors her hand on his shoulder to try and communicate that to him. Scott covers her hand with his. He gets it.

Liam looks between the two of them. “I just…” he begins, and pauses. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“We won’t let them hurt you again,” Allison swears.

But that’s not what he means; he’s shaking his head. “No, the whole… like, how you were trying to protect everyone. Is that what you’ve been doing the whole time? How are you still alive?”

“Not all of us are,” Scott says. “Derek and Allison lost most of their families.”

“Yeah,” Liam says. “But what about that, actually. Like why is Derek here? Am I supposed to just forgive the guys that did this to us?”

That’s actually a pretty good fucking point. Allison sinks her teeth into her lip, and waits for Scott to answer but then she realizes he’s going to let her take this one. “Oh,” she says. “Well. I don’t forgive him. And you don’t have to forgive the twins. But I get it, and you don’t have to be involved. That’s totally cool.”

The kid heaves a deep sigh, looking relieved. “Okay. I mean I will, if you need help.”

Scott shakes his head. “We’ve got it handled,” he promises. Allison even believes him. “One of us can take you home. But you should stay and eat something. Healing’s gonna make you starving.”

Liam does stay to eat. The pack - though she cringes at the word - eats around the island together. Dad just so happened to have several loafs of banana bread cooling that the wolves devour, and then he produces several bags of chips for everyone, and he’s got hash browns frozen he pops in the oven. The humans do more of the talking - or Stiles does, mostly, though Kira can match him pretty well.

Scott pauses shoveling food into his mouth for a second to ask Lydia to take Liam home, which Lydia agrees to immediately. “No problem,” she says. “But first we have to figure out how exactly we’re going to keep this from just happening again. What do the alphas want, exactly?”

“They said Deucalion’s tired of waiting,” Isaac says. He’s leaning back against the counter, sort of behind everyone. Allison turns to look at him. “And that Scott wasn’t listening.”

“Yeah,” Scott says grimly. “He wants me to join them.”

“This fucking guy,” Stiles sighs.

“He’s a collector,” Derek says. “And he doesn’t have a true alpha.”

Everyone hates hearing that, of course. They all begin talking about it, Lydia has ideas to beat Deucalion and Derek has advice that’s probably useless, Kira wants to gather information and Stiles does a lot of gesturing. No one notices how Scott draws in on himself, going cold and quiet and angry.

Well, not no one. Obviously she notices. But the thing is, also, Isaac notices. They’re the last two left in the room with him, Dad’s cleaning up downstairs. And Scott’s just sitting at the island and picking at the tines on a plastic fork. He’s already bent one down all the way.

“Scott,” Isaac begins.

“A collector,” Scott says. He throws the fork across the room; it clinks off the opposite wall, almost aggressively harmless. Isaac flinches. “A _collector_?” he repeats. “Really? That’s how Derek’s gonna talk about it? Like I’m a limited edition fucking action figure?” He’s almost yelling, which for Scott is really bad.

“Yeah,” Allison says. “Because he’s the bad guy.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott’s already saying, in Isaac’s general direction.

“Don’t be sorry,” Isaac says. “You’ve got every right.”

“I dunno, I try not to be like, mad that much. It’s pointless.”

Pointless. Something in Allison’s chest resonates at the feeling, the not-quite-helplessness he’s expressing. “It isn’t,” she says, a little faint. These don’t feel quite like her words. “Pointless. That doesn’t matter, it doesn’t have to have a point.”

Scott holds his head in his hands. “No,” he says. “No, I just. I have to keep my head clear, I have to plan.”

“No,” Isaac says. He hasn’t moved, other than the flinch. Leaning against the counter, almost of a height with Allison. “No one’s here. You don’t have to do anything.”

The kitchen’s still, the air dead. “I do,” Scott says miserably. “That’s what I signed up for, I’m the person that does things and if I don’t they’re going to hurt you. All of you.”

“Not tonight,” Allison says. “We scared them off, killed one of them and the twins are out for at least a day.”

“You can feel however you want,” Isaac agrees.

And that just makes Scott seem to be in even more agony. “No I can’t,” he says, straightens up and turns to face them. “I can’t,” he says again, “because being angry literally means losing control. I could shift right now.”

“Then shift,” Allison says. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to! I just want to…” Scott clenches and unclenches his hands, pointedly. “I don’t know. I just want to tear something apart. This is bullshit!”

Isaac bobs his head in a nod. “It is.”

“But it’s irresponsible.”

“No it isn’t.”

“It really isn’t,” Allison chimes in. “You get to feel. It’s alright.”

“Okay, well. Then I’m angry!” Scott says, throwing his hands up, and Isaac flinches away from him so Scott wraps himself around Isaac instead of doing anything else unpredictable. “I’m angry,” he says against Isaac’s chest. “And I’m frustrated, and I don’t know what to do and I don’t need you to tell me what to do, I just…”

Isaac hugs Scott back, covering most of his face with his arms to hold him tight. “Okay,” Isaac says. “That’s okay.”

For a second it’s just them, holding each other, and Allison watching. Then Scott sticks an arm out and vaguely sort of slaps at the air until Allison gives him her hand. He pulls her in, too, so she wraps her arms around both of them and presses her forehead against Scott’s temple. “You’re mad and it’s okay,” she says, and something untangles in her heart.

Scott stays the night. He crawls into Allison’s bed. She recognizes his body language for all she’s never seen it before; he wants to be held, he wants to let her be in charge because he’s so tired of it. It’s something new to their dynamic, she thinks as she takes his head into her lap. Not trusting each other, but trusting each other _with this._ When they had been together before, she’d been so consumed with the whole family thing and he’d been struggling with things he couldn’t tell her. And now they’re partners in every sense of the word.

Scott hugs her legs, his body practically a heated blanket over them. “We can make a plan tomorrow,” he says.

“We will,” she says. “I promise.”

“I love you,” he says. “I know you know, and. You don’t have to say it back. I just had to tell you. I still love you, Allison.”

“I know, I’m just… I’m working on it,” she says, because now isn’t the time to get into the fact that she’s sort of in love with him and someone else. Now it’s just about Scott.

“Cool,” he says happily, and dozes off.

There’s a knock on her door after a second and then the door opens; most of her lights are off, but it’s not hard to tell Isaac from the shape of him, the air around him. “Hey,” he says quietly, and Allison motions him in. Not just into the room, but then into bed, on her free side. He puts his arm around her waist, between her and the pillow, tips his head against her shoulder. She’s surrounded, they’re all around her, and she loves them more by the second.

“Hey,” Isaac says.

Allison thinks, this time, of radar. Waves bouncing off of everything, documenting the emotional topography. That’s him. She reaches for his hand, ends up settling it down over Scott’s hair with hers. And she can feel Isaac’s eyes on her face, can almost feel the catch he expects to be coming.

“I love you too,” Scott says then, his voice a little muffled. “Isaac. I love both of you.”

Isaac and Allison both smile. “Yeah, I know,” Isaac says, and after that he relaxes. Like he finally believes he belongs with them, which he so obviously does. It makes Allison think about her worry, how she thinks their shared species might leave her behind. Maybe she’s being as dumb as he is.

“Well,” Allison says. “As long as you know.”

That’s the first night the three of them share a bed. It works well enough. They’re all exhausted, and don’t move much. Allison learns that’s not normal the next times that they share. Not every night, but a few times a week all three of them end up together, sharing. Scott tends to toss and turn a little more, but that’s alright because Isaac likes to take Allison against his chest and keep her there, out of the way. Unless Scott’s in the middle - that happens the fifth time they share. Scott in the middle gets hugged against Isaac just like Allison does, and he doesn’t struggle. He holds Allison, the three of them nesting together tightly. And maybe at first it’s convenience, or feeling unsafe. Maybe, sure. But the more they do this - the first time the three of them pile into Scott’s twin bed, actually - Allison starts to think that a conversation really needs to be had.

In a weird kind of paradox, the closer they start to be, the more she feels like there is to lose by bringing this up, though. Things might change, and they’re so perfect right now.

Well. They’re not perfect. Deucalion is gunning for Scott again, which makes living life kind of tough. Scott’s team sticks together, the wolves shadowing the humans anywhere they need to go for any extended period of time. Lacrosse is generally safe - everyone in one place. One weekend Isaac goes with Lydia and Stiles and Kira to the academic decathlon. He comes home with a blue ribbon, and Lydia likes him a little more after that. Scott comes with the Argents when they go grocery shopping, which Dad takes as an excuse to give Scott food to take home with him every week.

And yeah, Allison hears from Lydia about Stiles and Derek coming with her to the mall, or with Kira and her on dates, and that’s great. Good for Derek. Liam doesn’t want to be involved in all of this, so when Isaac and Scott are busy Derek is the best option. That makes intellectual sense. Allison isn’t petty or vengeful enough to keep her friends from protection for the sake of her feelings. But she’s glad that Scott and Isaac never ask her to put up with Derek. She’d probably do it if they asked.

“This has gotta stop,” Stiles says. A billion times, but particularly this time when he and Allison are visiting Scott at Deaton’s. “We can’t be on fucking lockdown forever, it won’t last.”

“Oh,” Scott says. “So now you want me to punch my way out of this? After your whole toxic masculinity whatever talk?” He’s feeding all the residents, while they talk.

“That’s not a fair representation of my beliefs,” Stiles objects, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie. “But it’s a trolley problem situation. If beating the shit out of one alpha male means he leaves everybody alone, then we should throw that fucking switch, Scott!”

Allison nods along with Stiles. “Let us handle it, if you don’t want to,” she says. She worries for a second that she sounds too bloodthirsty, preemptively readies herself for Scott to not trust her instincts.

But Scott just sets his jaw and looks between the two of them. “But isn’t fighting him like, ruining my whole moral point? I’ve spent so much time trying to not do that.”

“No,” Stiles says.

“No,” Allison agrees. “You’re trying to do the least harm you can. If you could get out of this without hurting anyone, you wanted to. But he hasn’t left you any choice.”

She sees Scott thinking it over, thinking as he moves the way he always thinks best. “Okay,” he finally says. “So how do I win?”

“Good question,” Stiles says. “Because if you go one-on-one you’ll die.”

“I can’t ask everyone else to get involved,” Scott says.

“You don’t have to,” Allison says. “We all want them gone.”

“Right but like. If someone gets hurt…”

One of the humans, Allison infers. And he’s not afraid of someone getting hurt, he’s afraid of someone dying.

“There’s only five of them,” Stiles says. “If we get Jackson back from London, and convince Erica and Boyd to help us out we’ll be at six. Maybe the baby wolf, even, seven. Plus Allison, me-”

“My dad,” Allison says. “He’ll fight for us.”

“I’m sure Kira and Lydia will figure out some super smart way to blow everybody up from a distance,” Stiles adds. “We can do it.”

“Kill them?” Scott asks.

Stiles and Allison exchange a look. “If it comes to that,” Allison says. “Unless there’s some werewolf way to guarantee they don’t have to die.”

“Or some scientific way,” Stiles says. “I bet your dad and Lydia could cook up something truly horrific.”

“I’m not asking Liam,” Scott says, kneeling to feed one of the dogs.

“But if he volunteers,” Stiles says with a big shrug. “Perhaps…”

“That’s different. But don’t talk to him, I mean it.”

Allison watches Stiles promise, and then he gives her a look that they both know the meaning of; Scott didn’t make her promises, and that’s the exactly kind of loophole they can exploit if they need to. In theory. Allison doesn’t know if she could bring herself to actually ask him. Liam really is a baby.

“Will you talk to Jackson?” Scott asks, looking up at her. “He always liked you.”

“Sure,” Allison says. “When are we doing this?”

“Soon as we can,” Scott says, and looks at Stiles.

Stiles nods. “Tell him he has to hug people for better control,” he adds. “And then tell me every second of his reaction.”

Allison makes a face at him. “Ha ha. Mock the traumatized-”

“No, no,” Stiles cuts her off crossly. “Do not make it about that. He doesn’t get a free pass to be an asshole because of his birth certificate.”

“Oh, so where do you get yours?” she asks, faux innocent, and Stiles scoffs so hard it sounds like it hurts his throat. “He won’t be happy,” she admits then. “It’ll be hilarious.”

Stiles throws his arms out. “Thank you.”

Scott straightens up then, and looks at both of them. “We need a really good plan,” he says. “Losing is not an option.”

And Allison looks right into his eyes. “We won’t lose,” she says. A fact. That works well enough; Scott nods, and hugs them both goodbye.

“You think we can do it?” Stiles asks when they’re walking out to his jeep.

“I know we can,” Allison says. She composes a text to Jackson once she’s buckled in, as Stiles gets them going. _Hey babe, major shit going down. Sort of end of the world. Need you here. Not sure sched, sometime in the next couple weeks, we have to kick a blind dude’s ass_

Jackson replies in less than a minute. _Weird. I’ll be there. Is this what Lydia was talking about when she said she’s under house arrest?_

_Yep. B ready to fight_

_I always am_

“Jackson’s in,” Allison says out loud.

“Great,” Stiles says. “Bet you ten bucks he’ll say something about how the UK is different in the first minute.”

“Two minutes,” Allison counters.

“Done.” He sticks his hand out to shake on it, which they do.

Isaac meets them in Lydia’s driveway. He’s wearing a sweater Allison’s pretty sure is from her closet, shoved to the back because it’s too huge but looking normal-sized on him. “Hey,” he says when he sees them. “How’s Scott?”

“Got the green light,” Stiles says, and he and Allison stand with Isaac in a loose kind of circle. “We’re gonna take on Deucalion,” Stiles confides.

“Whoa.” Isaac looks at Allison. “Really?”

Allison nods. “Yep. I’m calling Jackson, we’re gonna talk to Erica and Boyd. My dad.”

“I can talk to Erica,” Isaac says. “She’ll get it.”

Stiles knocks his arm against Isaac’s. “Good. There we go. I’m talking to Derek. Add to that some evil genius from your dad and our resident queer women, and we’ll have it on lock.”

Isaac blinks at him. Allison tilts her head. “Maybe don’t call it evil,” she suggests, and has to swallow hard after that.

“No, no I didn’t mean that,” Stiles says quickly, and he looks at her that way she doesn’t particularly like. The look of recognition that knows the galaxy of emotions inside of her from being inside it himself. “How is this?” he asked. “Are you… how are you, with the idea of…”

“It’s okay,” Allison says. “I’m fine.”

“It’s not freaking you out to try and figure out innovative way to kill werewolves?” Stiles says.

Allison feels a spike of annoyance. “No,” she says. “Not till you put it that way. I’m trying to keep everybody alive, I’m not…”

“No I know,” Stiles says quickly. “No, yeah. I wasn’t suggesting…”

“You kind of were,” Isaac says.

“It’s okay,” Allison says, to Isaac particularly. “It’s fine.”

That earns her another close look from Stiles, and Isaac gets one too. “Hold on,” Stiles says then. “Is that? I mean. Are you…”

“No,” Isaac says.

Allison answers too. On instinct. “Yeah.” She shrugs, feels Isaac go still next to her.

“Does Scott know?” Stiles asks. Fast, but not like accusatorially, just as fast as his mind works.

“Scott is very involved,” Allison assures him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles makes a face. “I mean, I’m not _worried_ ,” he says. “I’m just interested in the lives of my best friends. And Isaac.”

Allison laughs, and Isaac smiles as he flips Stiles off. “Wow,” he says.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, pointedly not smiling. “Just the two people most important to me, and then there’s you.”

“You’ve made your point,” Isaac says.

“Oh, have I made it?” Stiles demands.

Allison takes over then, before it can devolve any further. “Okay. We’re going,” she says firmly. “Let’s go.”

“Where you going?” Stiles asks. “Home?”

“Yeah, Dad’s making pork chops. You’re staying here until Scott’s off?”

Stiles nods. “Can’t wait for this to be over,” he says. “Finally get a second alone without Derek doing his whole hyper vigilance thing.”

Allison pretends that makes sense, she nods and hugs him goodbye and gets in the car. But what she’s really doing is processing some more. Anti-compartmentalizing. Connecting dots. 

“Hey,” she says. “You think it should…”

“What?”

“Well, it’s just. Do you think it should be weirder? That we have to be on high alert like this?”

“Weirder,” Isaac repeats.

“Yeah. I think… I don’t know,” Allison finally says after a long pause. “Maybe Stiles is right, maybe I shouldn’t be like. Ready for this kind of stuff.”

“Shouldn’t is a big word,” Isaac says, and doesn’t elaborate for a while.

“Too big, you mean?” she prompts, and looks over at him for a second.

“Maybe,” he says. “Like, what do you mean? Because you can’t change.”

“No,” she agrees. “But. Like. I don’t know.” She can’t work out that thought or communicate it. Against her will, she thinks about what Liam would say, Liam and his whole therapy thing. Or Lydia.

Isaac just looks out his window. “Let me know when you know,” he says.

Dinner with Dad is quiet, but not like it’d been quiet last year. Not in an awkward way, or a cold way. They’re comfortable together, none of them particularly loud, and they’re eating. It doesn’t occur to Allison they should be talking until Scott shows up, texting and then walking in a few minutes later. He’s full of warm conversation and bright smiles, and just his presence makes the rest of the three of them open up.

It’s not like it was in doubt, but tonight Allison knows something new. Verbalizes it to herself explicitly. She’s watching her dad smile at Scott and Isaac complaining about Coach not knowing how to teach, and it clicks. She actually needs both of them to feel like her whole self. They’re both integral parts of her family, the family she’s built.

“Can I stay tonight?” Scott asks as they’re doing dishes.

“Sure,” Allison answers. She’s putting away, Isaac’s drying. Dad’s giving them space, he’s retired to the office again. Trust isn’t something either of them are exactly familiar with, but he’s trying so hard. She should thank him, at some point. “Scott,” Allison says then.

“Hmm?” His eyes are so warm, and full of love.

“I need some help,” she tells him. “I need you help me figure this out.”

“Since I failed at it,” Isaac adds.

“No, you didn’t,” Allison says, and Scott makes a sound of agreement too. “This is just something Scott’s good at, and. I’m not.”

Scott nods. “Lay it on me,” he says.

Maybe she should use different words than she did before, since it didn’t make sense to Isaac, but they’re the only words she has. “I probably… shouldn’t be on such high alert all the time, right?” she says hesitantly.

“Well… like about the alpha pack? ‘Cause that does kind of make sense,” Scott says, rinsing off the last couple bowls and handing them to Isaac.

“No,” Allison says. “More like sort of in general.”

“How general?”

The moment she has to say it out loud, she realizes it’s weirder than she was giving herself credit for. “Well, like. I’ve always carried a knife. Since I was probably twelve. And I wake up most of the time, when there’s a sound at night.”

Scott’s eyebrows are high. “Oh,” he says.

“The alpha pack thing hasn’t put me on any higher alert,” she says more clearly. “This is just sort of my default.”

“Then no, that’s definitely not normal,” Scott says. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to be that… on guard all the time, you should feel safe.” He rinses his hands and holds his hands out for Isaac’s towel, which he gets when Allison takes the dry, stacked bowls from Isaac to put them away.

She talks as she moves. “I do,” she says. “Most of the time. It’s not about not feeling safe with you.”

“More like not feeling safe anywhere,” Isaac suggests, his eyes on her. Through their eye contact, she can feel Scott’s concern for both of them. It might be a little smothering if all of his worry was focused on her, but it’s okay, split with Isaac.

“Guys,” Scott says with a frown. “That’s not good.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’m just trying to, like. Establish this.”

“Normal?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Scott nods. He looks between her and Isaac again, thinking. “Okay,” he says. “Can I do something?”

“I’ll let you know,” she says. “I’m okay right now, though.”

“Okay.” He looks at Isaac for his answer too. “Anything?”

“No,” Isaac says with a crooked smile. “I’m okay.”

She notices something as she puts her pajamas on that night. It’s a dumb small thing, just the way they smell, and it makes her think of her mom. Of weekend mornings curled up in chairs and coffee. Times when her mom wasn’t intent on killing Allison’s best friends or also dead.

She thinks the moment passes without them noticing. But when they get in bed, Scott makes sure Allison’s in the middle. “C’mere,” he says in her ear, and pulls him against her so he can be the big spoon. And with the arm that’s over her, he wraps his hand around Isaac’s. “I will protect you,” he says. “Both of you.”

“You shouldn’t have to-” Allison begins.

Scott squeezes her firmly, hooks his chin over her shoulder to hug her with his whole body as he cuts her off. “Not like that,” he says. “Not like I’m an alpha. Just me. Because I love you.”

“Love saying that,” Isaac observes, and meets Allison’s eyes. She’s too tired to emote, so she just looks back, and then decides to pull him closer. It’ll get too hot, but she wants him to know he’s included.

“Not unless we protect you first,” Allison says. She doesn’t address the other part. The words get caught in her throat, so all she can do is hope they understand what she means anyways. And when she wakes up in the middle of the night a few hours later, sweaty from how tightly she’s sandwiched between them, Allison thinks she made her point.

It’s terrifying to see Lydia and Dad brainstorming werewolf incapacitation methods. Even more terrifying that Derek is the wolf weighing in on their ideas. But Isaac and Scott and Liam are at lacrosse, and Jackson isn’t here until tomorrow, and they’re not asking Boyd or Erica for anything besides the one big thing. So Derek is kind of the only choice, considering that they’re trying to get this done as quickly as possible. Deucalion has started showing up randomly, like Derek used to when he was recruiting Scott. It’s a matter of time before the guys can’t stay around enough people as buffer. Scott has her taser, Isaac has a knife.

She looks up from the cup of coffee clenched in both her hands when Derek sits on the couch next to her. There’s only a foot or two between them. He looks unusually comfortable, for him - joggers and a zip up hoodie that doesn’t highlight his biceps like apparently every other piece of clothing he owns does. And under that, a Spider-man T-shirt?

“Since when do you wear graphic T’s?” Allison says.

“It was a gift,” Derek answers stiffly. But there’s a smile at the corners of his mouth that seems sincere. She can’t remember if he’s ever smiled. The angles of his face are a lot less severe. “How you feeling about all this?” he adds then.

Allison tilts her head. “Is that your casual way of asking about my vital signs?” she says, and adjusts how she’s sitting so she’s facing him, her back to the arm of the couch.

“Yeah,” Derek answers, with a closer look at her. “It usually freaks people out.”

“Scott,” she says. “Isaac.”

“Right,” he says. “Well. I’m just being cautious. I know what Argent women are capable of when surprised.”

Oh, fuck. Shit. Derek knows Kate. Allison actively stops compartmentalizing and remembers, looking at him, when Kate captured him and was - shit - torturing him in the - FUCK! - _basement of his childhood home that Kate had burned down._

Allison hasn’t spent a lot of time grieving Kate. If anyone had asked she would’ve said it’s because she didn’t know her as well as Mom. But now she’s wondering how much of it has to do with what she saw Kate do. Oh my God, Allison saw Derek chained to a rack being electrocuted. She didn’t do anything to help him. He must remember that. And Allison has spent so much time attempting to ignore his existence and then wondering how she could possibly be civil to him but now she’s wondering how he can even be in this house.

This all happens in a couple heartbeats. “Right,” Allison says. “How did you know her, again?”

“She never told you?” Derek asks, and she shakes her head. “We dated in high school. Well. I was in high school.”

The house is deafeningly silent. “What?” Allison says.

He doesn’t look like he’s joking - though, part of her brain that sounds a lot like Stiles tells her he doesn’t look like he’s ever told a joke in his life. And he definitely doesn’t know why she’s asking. “What?” he repeats back, voice lower.

“I’m sorry. When you were in high school and she was like. Over twenty-one?” Allison says. Lydia attempted to date a man who was twenty-two when they were freshmen, a fact she’d recently reminded Allison and Kira of when she was talking about what she called her ‘dangerous forays into heteronormativity’. And Derek’s house burned down when he was sixteen, so he was maybe even 15 and Kate was minimum like twenty-three.

“Yes,” Derek says, unaware of her mental journey. “What’s blowing your mind about that?”

Okay, so that’s why he and Stiles work. “Um,” Allison says. “How far did things go?”

“Before she burned my house down?” Derek asks, but that’s a blow that doesn’t land. That’s deflection, just like Isaac does it. Pretending to be angry. She doesn’t know what he is underneath.

“Yeah,” she says. “Before that.” Derek’s face and lack of an answer says everything she needs it to, and she loses control of her breathing then because maybe Kate was her family but she was also… Allison doesn’t even know what to call it. Liam’s fifteen, he’s a baby to Allison, and she’s not even eighteen yet.

“I’m sorry,” Allison says, because she can’t not say it. “That’s…”

“No, it’s- don’t be sorry,” Derek says. This is clearly not what he intended; he turns towards her a little more. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I’m the one she fooled, so. This one’s on me.”

Allison stares at him, feeling how wide her eyes are open. “You were fifteen,” she says.

“And stupid,” he says like that’s agreeing with her.

“That’s not what I’m…” Okay, fuck. Hold on. Allison sets her mug down and digs her fingers in her eye to buy some time. She has no idea what to say, because somehow all of her panicked planning under the heading What To Do When Speaking To Derek never included having to explain to him that he’d been probably basically molested. In a statutory sense, at least. “She should’ve gone to jail,” Allison says, but that’s not enough.

“Well, yeah. She killed eight members of my family,” Derek says. 

“Yeah, but she was also like, a predator,” Allison says, the multiple connotations of the word not occurring to her until after she says it. That’s probably how Kate excused it to herself. You have to fight fire with fire, after all. But that metaphor’s not right for this. Derek hadn’t hurt any kids then - and, if Allison’s trying to be reasonable, she has to admit that Kate’s logic would excuse Derek’s actions post-Kate just the same. “For that, with you. It’s not okay, I’m sorry she did that.”

Derek looks at her like she’s speaking French, a slight crease between his eyebrows. Concentration, not anger. His mouth drops open a little bit, but he has nothing to say.

He didn’t say anything either when Kate electrocuted him.

Allison’s stomach drops out. Abruptly, she stands. “I need some air.”

She shoves on the first shoes she sees and grabs her keys and leaves, making sure not to shut the door too loudly. The last thing she wants is to see Dad right now. Did he know? She’s never asked herself that question in any of its relevant forms, but now she can’t help it. Did he know about Kate and Derek? Or about Kate burning the house down, or about Kate being a fucking sadist. Or Mom, everything Mom said and did that Allison was starting to realize was probably not what a parent should say to their child. Did Dad know? She’s been so focused on the one person in her family she has left that she hasn’t been able to go there. But right now if she’s in the house a moment longer she won’t be able to stop herself from asking him, needing to know.

She can connect dots, now. She can see that Derek had protected Scott with everything he had, and to him that meant letting Kate do all that stuff to him once she kidnapped him because he knew Kate would kill Scott. He had to know she’d want to kill him too, but still, he didn’t crack. Even when Kate took him to the basement of the house she had burned down with his family inside of it. Allison is so hot that a chill runs down her back, but she just keeps walking.

She’s at the end of the street going around the corner when Derek catches up to her, coming in hot at a light jog. “You shouldn’t be out alone,” he says, falling into step with her.

“Well, I don’t want to be out with you,” Allison says, and then has to clarify. “Not… because, like. It’s not you, I’m specifically… well, it’s.”

“I understand,” Derek says.

“You don’t, though.”

“Then tell me,” he says.

This is not only impossible, it’s stupid. They shouldn’t be anywhere near each other. But he’s right, it’s not safe, and it’s easier to work this out while they’re walking. She’s active, her brain can just churn in the background. And with Derek only in her peripherals, she doesn’t have to think about him too much.

“My mom,” she finally says, “told me that if I was strong, she wouldn’t have to kill Scott. If, like.” Maybe talking is a mistake; she already feels dizzy.

“That sounds like the Argents I know,” Derek says.

Okay, maybe she does still hate him in a lot of ways. He bit her mom, and hurt Isaac, and he’s lied to them all. He’s a weird, sharp dude with definite anger issues and a stupid muscle car and he gave her the scars on her leg. But if she hates him for being a cold monster, she has to hate Kate for what part she played in making him like this, too. Allison only lost three people. Derek lost eight.

“You don’t know us,” she says out loud. “You know Kate, and she’s not… that’s not what we are.”

“Isn’t it? She had help.”

“They’re all dead, now.”

“Yeah, because Jackson was out of control, not because you did anything.”

Allison glares at him. “Okay,” she says crossly.

“Oh, sorry. Did you want me to sugar coat this?” Derek demands, his tone pleasant in the passive aggressive way Stiles has perfected.

“I’d like you to give me a second,” Allison says sharply, and speeds up. Derek, of course, speeds up too. “It’s almost like I wanted to go on a walk by myself to have a second, to process-”

Derek scoffs. “Process what? That Kate wasn’t as perfect as-”

“That _she took advantage you_ ,” Allison says, turning to look at him. He’s not much taller than she is. “And then used that to hurt you, and kill children. And then, tortured you! And you think all of that was somehow _your fucking fault.”_

“Why are you angry about that?” Derek asks, stopping with her.

“I’m not,” she says, as calmly as she can which is not very calm at all. Her face is hot too now, and her head feels like it’s going to explode.

“Then what the hell-”

“My mother’s dead,” Allison says, doesn’t yell because that’s yet another thing that feels taboo, disturbing the peace. So she says it quietly, but she says it.

“So’s mine,” he counters.

“Then you should get it! You should let me be-” She cuts herself off. Telling him how to feel is not the point. She needs to get to the point. And she’s so frustrated she wants to clench her hands into fists, but that won’t help. The point. “Everyone but my dad is dead, and it turns out none of them were good people. They did things I can’t live with, and you have every right to be hurt by everything, okay? I do get that. But just… later. You can be smug about how I’m part of a homicidal cult later, but right now I’m just angry. And I need you to let me be.”

Derek’s only speechless for a second. “You need me to let you be mad, at me, for your fucked up family?” he finally says.

“Yes,” Allison snaps.

He just looks at her for a second. She notices all over again, how comfortable he looks, and with all of this new context it occurs to Allison how miraculous it is that he can be like this. Relaxed, when so much of their families have destroyed each other.

“Okay,” he says. “What does that mean? Do you want to fight?”

“No,” she frowns. “I just… I want to walk in silence.”

Derek thinks that’s stupid. “Okay,” he repeats, skepticism bleeding into his tone. But he walks with her, and he stays quiet for several blocks.

“I’m not mad at you for… I’m mad at you for pushing,” Allison corrects herself when she processes that far.

“You can take it,” he says. And not like Mom might say it, or any of her other family members, not as a challenge. The weirdest thing is how he means it. Or maybe it’s less than that, maybe he just knows.

It’s enough, though. She _can_ take it. She can work through these things and let him be his abrasive self and not take anything out on him besides what he deserves. Like, empathy exercise - if Derek had burned down her house with kids inside of it, what would she do to him? To his mother? She’d almost killed Scott.

“I’m not hurt,” Derek says after a while. They’re just starting to circle back towards her house. “Kate didn’t hurt me.”

“Okay,” Allison says. “And I’m not angry. You didn’t bite my mom.” God, that’d be nice if it was true. She’s starting to realize just how close she’s been to total fury for so long. A year probably, of feeling like smoldering coals, ready to burst into flames. Even just this, him denying what Kate did to him, that has her fuming for a second, before she can help it. But she’s been angry for a year and hasn’t ever said it out loud before now. How long has it been for him?

Derek doesn’t argue, he just presses his lips together. And Allison finally, for the first time since Mom died, feels like she has a handle on what’s happening. Maybe connecting all these dots is getting her somewhere, exposing some kind of bigger pattern. Argent women are leaders. She can direct herself out of what her family became.

They’re near her house when something else occurs to her. If she wants to, she could try and help Derek not be what her family made him, too.

They only walked for a mile or so, and Allison’s not done thinking. She passes her house to take another lap, and Derek pauses in the driveway. “Allison,” he says.

“I need to keep walking,” she answers, and continues.

At the corner, when she doesn’t hear him coming she turns sees him following several steps behind. She pauses, for him to catch up, and he pauses too, looking at her confrontationally. “What?” he says.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Keeping my distance,” he says. “I would hate to be a predator.”

“Go to hell,” she frowns. Derek makes a face at her; he thinks he’s making a good passive-aggressive point. Allison turns all the way around then, back towards him, and crosses her arms. “Don’t be mad at me for telling you the truth,” she says, and means more than that. It means something like, don’t you dare not recognize how hard it was to be honest with you, don’t you dare waste that.

“I’m not,” he says with evident restraint, enunciating clearly. “I’m serious.”

“Well, I think Stiles would have more to worry about than me.”

She doesn’t mean it to be anything more than a simple fact. But Derek goes faintly pink, and he stalks closer crossly. “Shut up,” he mutters.

“What, I can take it but you can’t?” she asks.

“I’m not a creep,” he says, without looking at her. He comes to a stop right next to her. Is it too much to think she can hear a moment of vulnerability in his tone, a kind of tremor she might’ve missed before?

“I don’t think you are,” she says, and is surprised by how much she means it. “Really.”

Derek glances at her then, raises his eyebrows. “Really,” he repeats, and they begin walking again. “You’ll disavow your aunt over it,” he says, “but it’s not a big deal when it’s me and Stiles? Sure, that makes sense.”

“Disavow,” Allison scoffs. “Please.”

“Is that not what you’re doing?” Derek demands indignantly.

Oh, it’s dangerously fun to get under his skin. “It is, but you don’t have to make it sound so dramatic,” Allison says.

The look he gives her is beyond annoyed. “And you’re avoiding the question,” he says, in a tone that sounds like he’s going to drop it.

“No,” she says. “I’m not. No one tricks Stiles into doing anything. Except Lydia. So I’m not worried. And he’s, like… perceptive,” she finishes after a long pause, because she’s torn. Stiles wouldn’t want to be talked about. But Derek, she’s realizing, probably has actually no one to talk to. Like not one person. “Plus, you guys haven’t…”

“No,” Derek agrees immediately once he catches on to what she’s asking. “Nope. We’re just.”

“Right, so.”

They walk in silence for a while, the same lap as they did before. He seems a lot more human than Scott and Isaac, like a lot less wolf. Maybe because he was born a werewolf, not bitten. Or maybe he’s better at hiding it. It doesn’t feel like he’s holding himself together, or like he’s still figuring things out. That’s strange. Allison’s sure he’s doing both. He must be a good liar.

Maybe Kate taught him.

Derek touches her, two fingers near her elbow, and once he has her attention he withdraws. “You want to head back in?” he asks.

“No,” she says. But she cuts over a few streets early, and he doesn’t remark on it. He’s strange like that. Or not strange as much as strangely familiar. That’s what really strikes her. He acts like a member of the family, not in a way where he knows her but more like he’s gotten the same training. In her new context, that’s kind of a little alarming.

“Ally?” Dad says when he hears the front door close.

“Yeah, we’re back,” Allison raises her voice.

“Bring Derek down here,” he says.

It’s not until Derek looks at her that she hears how threatening that sounds, like something Dad might’ve said a long time ago, to Scott. And, on top of that, Derek’s history with Argents and basements. But Derek goes willingly, no trace of fear that she can detect. Maybe if Scott were here, he could smell it.

“So,” Lydia says as they descend the last couple stairs, while Dad fiddles with an arrowhead. “We’ve made taser arrows.”

“Do they need to be connected to a source by wires?” Derek asks. “A battery would be too heavy to fire.”

Lydia narrows her eyes at him, in the way Allison knows means she’s impressed. “Yes,” she says. “But we’ve connected them to a source outside her, so she won’t get all tied up in them. And, they won’t break skin. So. They’ll hit, incapacitate, and drop.”

“For how long?” Allison asks.

“Let’s find out,” Lydia says, with a dangerous smile at Derek. He returns it, sarcastically tense. “We’ll test it at ten percent strength.”

“I’ve also electrified a knife,” Dad says. “Battery in the handle. I think we can go without testing that.”

“Thanks,” Derek says.

Allison’s the one who shoots him with it, of course. She holds her bow as he shrugs off his hoodie. And then she’s drawing the bowstring back, pointing an arrow right at him. Right at Spider-man’s face. It’s a blunt tip, it won’t come close to killing him. Her stomach flips, and she lets out her breath, and lets the arrow fly.

He drops almost immediately, white electricity arcing out from the point of impact, with a sharp zap sound. The air tastes different, charged, and Derek’s down on the ground for a lot longer than she thought he’d be. The charge must be strong.

“Fascinating,” Lydia says, and goes around to watch the effect.

Allison knows everything about her best friend. She loves her, everything about her. Including how she smells and what shampoo she thinks makes her hair shiniest, and how much she eats and how infrequent it used to be, and even that she’s a harbinger of death. But watching her examine Derek with clinical curiosity is the first time Allison can say she’s actually afraid of her.

“Okay,” Dad says. “That’ll work.”

“Coat the tip in wolfsbane,” Derek says when he catches his breath. “So when they touch it…” Okay, maybe he hasn’t caught his breath yet. He rolls over onto one side, puts his hand over where the arrow hit.

“And the shaft,” Lydia agrees, and Dad nods.

Allison, though, Allison’s remembering what it looked like the last time someone in her family did something like this to Derek. She holds her hand out to Derek, before she really knows what she’s doing. “Come on,” she says.

He looks at it for a second, and then reaches back, fitting their hands together. It’s easy to pull him up, he has core strength, and once he’s up she lets go. “If that’s ten percent,” she says. “Will full strength kill them?”

“Probably not,” Derek says. “But if it does, does it matter? We can’t let them get Scott.”

On that, they agree. One of the few things they agree on, she reminds herself. This is the person who broke Erica’s arm for nothing, who did the same to Isaac and then kicked him out in the meanest way he could and Derek, for all his pitiable past, is not her friend. He’s an ally, only.

“Good point,” she says. So they leave it at that.

All the lacrosse players get back at once, loudly, talking over each other, and they gather in the kitchen again. Allison isn’t quite herself yet, she lets Scott and Isaac greet her with hugs and sort of returns them, but. She’s still sunk deep in her thoughts. She hops up on the counter, sits and watches everyone from that vantage point. Watches Stiles harassing Derek with no fear for his safety, and Kira and Lydia both talking fast and listening hard, holding hands. Dad’s fallen into the same role as before, feeding. He gives Derek a mug of tea, and says something with a smile.

“Allison,” Scott says. Isaac went upstairs for a second.

She drags her eyes down to his, smiles when she sees the absent sort of smile on his face too. He loves her. “Hi, babe,” she says.

“You doing okay? You kind of look a million miles away.”

“I am okay,” she confirms. “I’m… just. Thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts,” Scott says. His eyes get so squinty when he smiles like this, so cute.

“Well-” she begins.

Stiles whirls around and fixes Allison with a fierce glare. “What the _fuck_ did you say?” he demands.

“Whoa,” Scott says, turning to face Stiles. “Tone it down.”

“I’m not toning down shit, I was _this_ fucking close to convincing Derek to date me-”

“You weren’t,” Derek and Lydia say in unison.

“-but now he said you guys had a _conversation_ and he won’t even consider it? What the hell did you say?”

Allison presses her lips together tightly. There’s no easy way to summarize everything they said. And then she thinks of something funny to say. “Iron curtain,” she tells him with a straight face.

Stiles throws his arms out in supreme frustration and then drags his hands down his face. “Unbelievable,” he says.

She’s ignoring Stiles, though. She’s focused on how Derek is looking at her too, eyes hard. He nods once, a kind of thanks, and then says to Stiles, “What part of ‘you are a child’ did you not understand?”

“I thought you were just being your normal, abrasive self,” Stiles snarks back, and then they’re off again. Lydia and Kira go back to their conversation, and it’s just Allison and Scott again, him turning around and standing in between her knees.

“You had a talk with Derek?” Scott asks.

“Yeah.”

“How was that?” It sounds awkward.

She smiles. “Still not great at getting people to open up, huh.”

“I’m doing my best,” he says, and then snorts at himself. 

It’s cute. She tells him, just because she loves him. “It was… a lot, it was like. Kind of heavy. I’m still thinking about it. But it’s okay. He was… surprisingly normal.”

Scott nods, and leans in closer to hug her. He rests his head on her chest, and she rests her cheek on his head. “Okay,” he says. “Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. And Isaac is too.”

“I know,” she says, and squeezes him tighter.

Isaac comes back in then, and Allison feels him notice them like a shock. Not surprise, but a jolt of life. He smiles at her, comes straight over and throws his arms around both of them. “Hey,” he says. “All good?”

“Great,” Allison says.

“You missed Stiles complaining about his crush on Derek,” Scott says, his voice a little muffled.

“Oh,” Isaac says. “Well at least he’s talking about it.” He pulls back, and Scott does too. “Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks Scott.

“Yeah,” Scott says, and asks Allison, “You want to come?”

“No, Jackson’s getting here tomorrow morning,” she says. “I’ll stay. No worries.”

Scott nods. “So how did the inventing go?”

“It went good. I think…”

“We’ll win?” Isaac suggests.

Allison nods. She thinks, she tries to be rational about their actual chances. Four alphas versus six wolves, two hunters, and three evil geniuses. “Yeah,” she says. “I really think we will.”

Mom wakes her up. “Allison, it’s past ten. C’mon, get up.” She opens the curtains, and Allison squints against the light.

“Mom?” she says after a second. Something isn’t right.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. You know we have a big day today.”

“We do?”

“Of course we do.”

Allison looks down at herself. She’s in pajamas. Her mom’s in her lazy Sunday morning clothes. The morning’s bright and yellow. The house is exactly how it should be as she goes downstairs, and yet Allison can’t shake the feeling that something’s terribly wrong.

Her mom leads her down to the basement, past Dad’s study and she doesn’t know where Dad is because he isn’t there. But there’s no time to ask, she’s on her way down to the basement, she can’t stop for some reason as much as she desperately wants to turn back.

“What are we doing?” Allison asks. “What’s happening?”

“We’re going to have some girl time,” Mom says, and opens the basement door.

Scott’s dead on the floor. Isaac’s there too, chained up to a rack and it’d be better if he were dead. He’s beaten and bloody, missing fingers, and Allison wonders for a second how they did this to him. Or maybe how she did this to him. Something’s telling her that she did some of it. She can’t stop looking at him, but he’s not there. She can’t see his face.

“Mom,” Allison says.

She watches her mom lead Derek out, chain him up next to Isaac - and when did they get a rack in the basement? Her mother carves into his arm, thick blood welling up in the deep split from his shoulder to the inside of his elbow, and then she gives the knife to Allison. The knife feels good in her hand.

“Come on,” she says. “This is what Argents do.” And then her face is Kate’s, and electricity is arcing through Derek’s body, and Allison walks forward toward Isaac even though she knows she won’t hurt him, she _can’t_ hurt him, she wants to hug him but she reaches out-

Allison wakes up in her bed because she can’t breathe with how hard she’s crying. She's glad the boys are at Scott's. She couldn’t look at them.

And Dad’s here, anyways. He hears her, he comes into her room and holds her tightly until she can make herself move and then takes her downstairs. They sit in his office, the only space more his than the kitchen. He makes her tea. And then he lowers himself into the chair next to her, same side of the desk, and just waits. The Argents have never had any problem with silence; they sit there for a while, occasionally sipping their tea.

“What was it?” Dad finally asks.

She tells him without a second thought. A debrief, she thinks, but that’s unsympathetic and not right, anyways. Her dad is a good confidante, and the only one who’d understand. She looks down at her hands. “Mom was back. Killed Scott, was hurting Isaac and Derek, wanting me to…”

“Ah,” Dad says after a second.

“She did it, right? She’d tortured werewolves before.”

“Yes. She did.”

She hesitates before asking, because she doesn’t know if she wants to know the answer. “Did you?”

Dad, to his credit, doesn’t mince words. “Yes. Your mother took a more active role, usually, but. If there was a creature killing people, I did what I thought it took.”

“Would you do it now?”

He shakes his head, reluctant like he thinks that’s something he shouldn’t tell her. “That’s not,” he begins, and pauses. “There’s no such thing as extra credit for regret. I should’ve found a backbone sooner, I failed you. Doing the right thing now feels… pretty irrelevant.”

Allison holds her mug tighter, looks into it and swirls it a bit. He’s right, in a way. And knowing he gets it that much makes her brave enough to ask more. “Did you know about Kate?” she asks then, her voice barely more than a whisper. “About, uh. When she was trying to figure out who the new wolf was, she tortured Derek and brought me to see, and-”

“ _What_?”

She nods, encouraged. “That was right before the night when you found us with Scott and Derek. And she was trying to prove some kind of point with that, too. Like she thought I had to screw over Scott because she screwed over Derek when they’d been together.”

“Together?” Dad demands, with a disbelieving blink. “When?”

So that’s when Allison fills Dad in on everything that had happened last year, before Mom died but after she found out werewolves were real and not just metaphorical enemies. Including everything she knows about Kate and Derek. She feels a little bad, at first. Kate was Dad’s sister, this must be difficult for him to hear. But she watches her father’s eyes cool even more, harden, and after everything, he takes several moments of silence before speaking.

“She always said,” Dad begins, and clears his throat. “She always said that she’d convinced someone, she had a double agent.”

“Didn’t say she had a child she was seducing?” Allison says dryly.

“No, not quite,” Dad says, his tone icy. “So Derek blames us for quite a bit more than I knew.”

Allison screws up her face. “Well,” she says, and sips her tea. “He doesn’t think it was wrong.”

Dad clenches his jaw, looks deliberately away from her and nods. “Okay,” he says with bare civility. This isn’t something he’ll get into with her, now. He needs time to process, just like she does. “Thank you for telling me. I wish I’d known before, I could’ve…”

He wouldn’t have helped her. They both know that. She’s just grateful he isn’t lying to her. “Would you have cared?” she asks.

“Yes,” he answers unequivocally. “Preying on high school students? Yeah.”

It’s a relief to know where the line is. Allison nods, and they subside into silence for a few more moments.

“What about Mom?” she asks eventually. “Would she… if she was alive, and the guys were, like. Part of my life. Would she…”

Dad sighs. “That’s a pretty complicated question, Ally.”

“But she wouldn’t care that… I mean. She wouldn’t want to help them.”

“No,” Dad agrees. “She wouldn’t.”

“You think… y’think she’d hurt them?”

Dad nods once, after a second. “If she had the chance, yes. Your mother was not… that… nice. She was strong, and she was principled. And she loved you more than anyone.”

“I know she loved me. But I think that doesn’t make her good, necessarily,” Allison says. If her mother couldn’t set aside bias for Isaac and Scott, she doesn’t know if she’d want her for a mom anymore. “Maybe it’s better she’s dead,” Allison eventually adds, and tightens her hands around the mug. That might be too far.

If it is, Dad doesn’t say anything about it. “I’m glad you don’t have to pick,” is all he says.

Allison nods, takes another sip of her tea. “Me too.”

Jackson’s plane gets in at six, only a couple hours after her dream so she doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep. Dad calls her out of school when the office opens. Then she and Dad turn on the nature channel and watch some shit about the deep sea, and she tries to unplug her brain. Today’s big, she doesn’t have time for this.

It’s easy to tell when Jackson gets here; he steps inside and says, “Allison? I’m here. Tell me why I’m helping you kill a blind man.”

“That’s how you explained it?” Dad asks, a smile in his eyes.

“I was mostly joking,” Allison says as she gets up, and hurries to meet Jackson at the door. “Hey, how was your flight?” she asks as she approaches him.

“Fine,” Jackson says, and pulls her into a hug. That feels weird. “What’s wrong? Don’t say nothing, I can smell it. Which is… so fucking lame,” he finishes with a sigh.

There’s a reason they always got along, she remembers it more viscerally than ever. “Weird, bad dream,” she says. “Lot going on. Don’t worry about it.”

Jackson nods, and lets her go. “Okay. Well. I’m gonna go catch a couple hours of sleep. Gotta be at my best when we kick some ass tonight.”

“Aren’t you always at your best?” she says with half a smile.

He returns the smirk. “Well. Compared to these other losers, yeah. Where’s my room?” She shows him upstairs, to the only remaining guest room. Jackson drops his bag and flops face-first onto the bed. “If I’m not up in three hours, get me up.”

“Okay. Jackson?”

Jackson grunts without moving.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

“Shut up,” Jackson says. “Of course I’m here. Close the door.”

Scott calls a little while later, like he can smell Jackson’s presence in the city. She wouldn’t put it past him. “Hey,” he says. “Isaac says Jackson’s flight landed by now?”

Or that. “Yeah,” Allison says. “He’s sleeping, he’s here.”

“Okay. Can we can come over? I need you, we have a bit of a situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

“The kind where Liam flipped out and punched Greenberg in the face, and then ran away.”

Allison raises her eyebrows. “Oh,” she says. “Okay. That kind.”

“Stiles is picking him up, can we bring him to your house? Isaac and me will meet you guys there, we’re gonna ditch the rest of today.”

“Okay.”

“And Derek’s with Stiles,” Scott adds. “In case Liam goes nuts again.”

Great. That’s just great. “Okay.”

“Is this really okay?” Scott asks.

She takes a second to answer. Her head hurts, and she’s tired, and she still sort of feels like she’ll never eat again. And tonight she’s going to need to be at her best, her most accurate and lethal. “It is okay,” she says. “It’s just a lot.”

“Yeah. After tonight I want to take like, the longest vacation. Us on the beach somewhere.”

Us includes Isaac, for her, but it doesn’t seem like a good time to clarify that pronoun. “Definitely,” she says. “See you soon.”

“Bye.”

“Who was that?” Dad asks after she hangs up. She’s back on the couch with him, watching something about polar bears now.

“Scott. They’re all gonna be over soon.”

“Okay,” Dad says. “I guess I’ll start some coffee.”

Stiles and Derek are knocking on the front door in five minutes, with Liam between them like their misbehaving child. “Hi,” Allison says, and looks directly at Liam. He looks furious, and also like maybe he’s been crying a little bit. “Hey,” she says to just him.

“I hit somebody,” Liam says.

“That’s okay.”

Liam nods, swallows visibly hard and then pulls her almost roughly into a hug. It’s strange to hug someone shorter than her.

Over his shoulder, she sees Stiles look at Derek, and she’d be willing to bet he’s furious they didn’t think of this. Derek, predictably, does not react.

“Come on in,” Allison says. “Tell me what happened.”

Nothing. That’s the answer as far as she can tell. Something absolutely negligible set Liam off and he snapped and then ran before he could do any more damage. She thinks about taking off out of the house last night, and knows she can empathize more than a little. “Okay,” she says after Liam’s said his piece. They’re all at the dining room table, her and Liam across from Stiles and Derek. Stiles and Liam are eating leftover chicken and rice from a couple nights ago. “So what was it really about?”

Liam nods, looking at his plate and chewing. “Well,” he says after a second. “I think the full moon’s coming up, right?”

“Twenty seven hours,” Stiles answers without hesitation.

“Freak,” Derek says.

“I’m doing this for you,” Stiles tells him.

“I think that made me madder,” Liam says, ignoring them completely. “I usually have a better handle on it, I don’t know why I…”

Allison nods, and she’s trying to work up something sympathetic and understanding to say when Derek talks instead. “That’s what you need an alpha for,” he says.

“Yeah,” Scott says with half a smile. “Scott’s pretty great.”

“If you want Scott to keep being great,” Derek says leaning in, “then you should help us kill the alpha pack.”

Stiles whacks Derek’s arm. “Shut up,” he says, and then adds to Allison, “I told him not to mention that.”

“Mention what?” Liam asks.

Derek’s the one who explains it, he gets his whole sales pitch in and Liam’s looking dangerously like he’ll agree to help them when Allison steps in. “That’s not the whole story,” she says. “We’re totally fine without you.”

“It’s your responsibility,” Derek begins.

“Fuck off,” Allison tells him. “He’s just a kid.”

“You’re a kid,” Derek points out with little patience.

Stiles massages his temples. “Loves to say that,” he grumbles.

“I’m seventeen,” Allison says.

“A minor,” Derek retorts.

Okay. That is a point she can’t deny. So she twists it. “Yeah,” she says. “Well, that’s how I know he shouldn’t be mixed up in this so young.”

Derek hates how good that point is, she’s starting to distinguish his different angry faces. “Sometimes,” he says, glowering, “we don’t have a choice.”

“We always have a choice,” Allison says.

Everybody else gets there then, Lydia leading in Kira and Isaac and Scott. “Hello, happy showdown day,” she says brightly. “I made cupcakes.”

She did, actually, make cupcakes. Two dozen of them, with little moon sprinkles and red icing. That stops the arguing temporarily, as everyone eats. Scott sits on Liam’s other side, at the head of the table, and Kira sits next to Allison at the other end.

“Erica and Boyd will be coming after their lunch,” Kira says to Allison.

“Okay. Good.”

Jackson comes downstairs then, in a new outfit. Dressed to impress, she thinks, but then Jackson’s always sort of dressed for that. He never thinks about anything as much as he does the opinions of other people. “Hey, team dumbass,” he says as he comes in. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Hi sweetie,” Lydia says.

He gives her a kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Hey babe,” he says, and gives Kira a nod when he sees her too. Then, he sees Liam and frowns. “Am I dreaming? Or did you invite the twink version of me here as a prank.”

“That’s a complement,” Scott tells Liam.

“It’s really not,” Jackson says. He gives Liam an appraising up and down and then picks up a cupcake. “Well,” he says then. “We could at least have fun with it. What do you say, you want to kick those stupid twins into next fucking century?” That’s directed at Liam, who’s looking increasingly confused.

“ _Who_ is this?” Liam asks, his voice going high.

“My ex,” Lydia sighs. “And tragically, the only man I ever loved.”

“The tragedy is that she ever loved any any man,” Jackson says, in the resigned tone of someone who’s heard that a million times.

“That’s good,” Kira says to Lydia with a huge smile. “That’s a good one.”

“Oh, they have a whole song and dance,” Stiles says to her. “It’s honestly kind of sickening, breakups aren’t supposed to be so… choreographed.”

“They are when they’re gay breakups,” Jackson says in a withering tone. “Duh.”

“You’re gay?” Liam asks Jackson.

“You’re not?” Jackson asks right back.

“I’m bi,” Liam says.

Scott whips his head over to look at him, and Stiles jerks in his seat. Kira smiles, and Allison feels a rush of something a lot like adrenaline. He just came out to them.

“That’s cute,” Jackson says with a pitying look.

“Strange reaction,” Isaac says. He’s standing behind Allison, leaning on the back of her chair, so she can’t see his face. His tone is carefully neutral.

“It’s not real,” Jackson says.

“Of course it is,” Scott says. “Everyone’s a little gay. It’s a spectrum.”

“It isn’t,” Jackson disagrees. “You’re gay or you’re not.”

Allison turns to frown at him, and while she’s doing so Stiles chimes in. “Just because you’re limited to one gender doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

Lydia points at Stiles with a smug look at Jackson. “Seriously,” she says. “Grow up, Jackson.”

“Should we not be planning?” Derek says, his voice audibly tense. “Since we’re going to try and overpower the only pack of alphas I’ve ever heard of.”

“Well, maybe you just haven’t heard of much,” Jackson retorts bitchily.

Stiles nods. “That’s likely,” he says with a straight face.

“Hold on,” Jackson continues, looking at Lydia. “You’re a lesbian.”

“And a bisexual ally,” Lydia says without hesitation. “Because I’m a good person, and more specifically a good girlfriend.”

Jackson looks at Kira, who just smiles at him. “Oh,” he says then, his tone wary. “Well. I was kidding. Good for all of you, apparently.”

She sees Scott pat Liam on the back, and Stiles gives the kid a little smile too, encouraging. “Don’t let Jackson make you feel bad,” he says.

“I don’t feel bad,” Liam says without a trace of hesitation. His sureness feels a little like Scott’s, the moral clarity of it all. 

Allison and Lydia makes eye contact, surprised and impressed and amused, and Allison gets up to mediate this. She pushes Isaac down into her seat, and then moves towards Jackson to mediate. “Babe,” she says.

“Babe,” he echoes, and puts his arm around her waist. Unusually touchy. But the full moon is coming up, and he’s been alone in London for a while. She allows it, she holds him back. “I thought we agreed you were going to stop talking to them.” He says that quietly, just to her, so she surmises he’s done trying to pick a fight for now.

“Not quite,” she says. “We agreed it was a good idea for me to do that.”

“Right,” he says with a slow nod. “So then naturally, you decided to do it anyways.”

“Well.”

Jackson rolls his eyes at her, and he sighs very deeply, and then he just keeps hanging onto her while they start to discuss plans.

The boys are all like this today, handsy in the most benign way possible. Scott keeps ruffling Liam’s hair or patting his arm, and from Liam’s other side Isaac does the same. When Erica gets here, she hangs over the back of Isaac’s chair and squeezes him tight. Scott pats Boyd on the back as he passes him, hugs Erica hello, even manages to get Jackson to permit a handshake and shoulder bump combo. Of the werewolves, everyone’s touching but Derek. He’s sitting stiffly in his chair, or standing stiffly near the window. On the periphery unless Stiles pulls him in and even so he never stays.

And from the safety of the arms of all the boys she’s loved best, Allison thinks - when she’s not planning tonight - about Derek. About his family dying and the six years between then and when he started talking to Scott. About him breaking the bones of his pack to help them because he cared but not being able to communicate why. It’s still disgusting and inexcusable, but.

“Hey,” Allison says to Scott, who has his arm around her. They’ve taken a break to snack before dinner. Derek is on the couch, enduring a conversation with Stiles.

“Yeah?” Scott says brightly but absentmindedly.

“Do me a favor.”

That gets his attention. “Anything,” he says, and looks at her.

She directs his gaze at Derek with some serious nonverbal communication. “Go give him a hug,” she says quietly.

“Derek?”

“It’s a full moon,” Allison says. “And he’s in your pack. Right?”

Isaac gives her a look that’s almost frighteningly knowing.

And Scott doesn’t protest anymore. He kisses the side of her head and pats Isaac’s chest on the way past them both to the couch. It looks simple when he does it, he just flops into Derek’s side and wraps his arms tight around Derek’s chest. “Team building,” he says when asked.

She worries, for a second, because Allison never asked him to push it, to override Derek’s protestations. But of course, Scott didn’t need to be told that. He holds onto Derek for like a full minute until Derek stops keeping every muscle in his body tense and, however reluctantly, relaxes into the embrace. Scott leans his head against Derek’s chest, and Allison watches Derek screw his face up with irritation and then let him stay, in the end.

Eventually Derek stands, at least in part to get away from Scott’s persistent affection. But he stands with a little more ease, a little more settled in his skin. Scott stays on the couch, talking with Stiles and Lydia with an intent look in his eyes. They’re probably making battle plans. But Allison doesn’t join them because Derek’s coming over to her and Isaac right now. There’s a look in his eye.

“Did you know touch is an anchor?” Isaac asks before Derek can say a word.

“What do you mean?” Derek frowns, successfully derailed.

“I feel like that’s something you should’ve known,” Isaac says. “And maybe told us, so we didn’t almost rip each other apart.” There’s steel in his voice, in his eyes when he looks at Derek. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“What do you mean?” Derek says, stunned.

Isaac reaches out, wraps one hand around Derek’s arm and looks him in the eye. Whatever they feel between them, it surprises Derek even more. “It’s anchoring,” he says. “Or is that something else you didn’t know?”

Helplessly furious, Derek looks at Allison. “When did you figure this out, exactly?” he asks stiffly.

“Liam’s first full moon.”

“So you didn’t know,” Isaac says.

“If I knew, you think I would’ve just let you guys rip me apart?” Derek demands.

Isaac shrugs. “I don’t know. You didn’t seem to give a shit about us otherwise.” That isn’t exactly what he believes, Allison knows, but she just crosses her arms and backs him up. Derek looks at her before answering, and she gives him nothing.

“Sure,” Derek says. “I don’t give a shit about any of you. That’s why I’m here today.”

“Sounds like your delivery could use some work,” Allison says, and shifts to lean against Isaac.

Derek clenches his jaw. “Well,” he says. “That’s probably why I’m not the alpha anymore.”

“Yeah. Among other reasons,” Isaac says.

He’s being hostile in a way Allison almost doesn’t recognize. This isn’t the person she’s come to know. But it resembles the person he was when they first started talking more than a year ago. It takes a second to sink in, but. Isaac doesn’t feel safe around Derek. That’s what she can infer here.

And then the second level to that, which she puts together as Derek stalks away - Isaac feels safe with her.

On the other side of the kitchen, Jackson and Liam are talking, discussing something Allison can’t quite hear as they lean together over the sink. Seems like Jackson was able to overcome his first impression, which Allison’s glad of. He’s nice when he lets himself be. She hops everyone else understands that, that he’s mean to them because that’s his default but he’s mean to her because she doesn’t mind it. She can handle it. And on some level it feels almost safer than being nice.

“Huh,” she says out loud.

“What?” Isaac asks.

“I think I figured something out.”

He raises his eyebrows, waiting to be told. “Well,” she says. “I think… Derek’s a lot like Jackson.”

Isaac seems surprised. “Oh,” he says.

“Does that sound crazy?”

“Not really,” Isaac says. “Surprisingly. They’re both dicks, so.”

“You wish, Lahey,” Jackson says from across the room, but in a tone that means that he’s clearly not listening and intends to keep not listening. Isaac flips him off, and Liam watches with a little smile.

“No,” Isaac continues. “That makes sense, in a weird kind of way. But does this mean you like Derek now?”

Allison scoffs. “No,” she says. “If anything I like him less.” But there’s a sort of grey area, she thinks, between liking someone and understanding them. Figuring out their component parts. And she still can’t totally wipe out her dream, the way the boys had looked in it, so she invites herself into Isaac’s arms then. He goes along with it, drapes his arms over her shoulders loosely and looks down at her with love.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m…” she sighs. She takes stock of her heart and yes, this feels a lot more dangerous than the meanness between her and Jackson. It’s also so worth it. “I had a really fucked up dream,” she says. “And I don’t want to talk about it until we kill these fucking alphas.”

Isaac frowns. “Okay,” he says. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not psyching myself out. And that means keeping my head in the game, and not thinking about my insane dream,” she says firmly, and he sighs. “Okay? Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, okay,” he says, and then before she knows what’s happening he’s leaning down to kiss her. Not unwanted or out of nowhere. She has to acknowledge that. Maybe she’s just gotten too used to ignoring this feeling because it’s gone so long without either of them acting on it. They share a peck that’s almost over before it starts because Isaac draws back in shock partway through. “Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” she says.

“Hold on,” Jackson says from behind her. “Don’t tell me you’re actually dating a werewolf, after everything.”

“She’s dating two,” Liam answers innocently.

“ _TWO?_ ”

Okay. Shit. This is why she should’ve had the conversation she meant to have with Isaac and Scott weeks ago, to avoid this exact moment. Looking at Isaac with mute sort of panic.

“Hey,” Scott says, sliding up next to them. “What’s going on, we good? We’re going to head out pretty soon, here.”

“We’re fine,” Isaac says.

“What the fuck, Allison,” Jackson says, looking actually kind of upset. “Seriously, how is this anything like taking care of yourself and getting a fucking break from all of the supernatural bullshit around here? I had a hunch you weren’t done with McCall, that was bad enough, but. Two fucking werewolf boyfriends?”

Allison looks at Scott to explain, she opens her mouth and is ready to apologize. But Scott preempts her. “Hey,” he says, putting his hand on Allison’s shoulder. “We want her to get a break too.”

“Stop,” Allison frowns. “I’ve gotten a lot of a break, last year was mostly normal after you took over from Derek.”

“Sure,” Jackson says. “Normal. The two of them turn into wolves every full moon and you almost killed them.”

This is exactly what Allison did not want. “Okay,” she says. “That’s not exactly… representative of the situation.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Guys,” Derek says, joining them. “Kali’s outside. They know we’re up to something. We’ve gotta get going.”

Jackson gives her a long look over the island. “You’re an actual superhero,” he says. “Vigilante shit. But like, if the citizens of Gotham killed Superman’s mom.”

“Batman,” Derek and Isaac correct him in unison.

Jackson and Liam roll their eyes identically. “I did not miss any of you,” Jackson says, digging a finger in his eye. “Let’s get this fucking over with.”

They arm up and then lead the alphas to the predetermined spot, Derek’s warehouse downtown. Dad and Stiles and Lydia drive. All the girls are getting in Lydia’s car, but Scott pulls Allison towards Stiles’ jeep. Derek is in the passenger seat. Scott, gently but firmly, directs Allison into the middle of the backseat next to Isaac and gets in after her. “We have to talk,” Scott says.

“Not the best time,” Stiles begins.

“No comments from the front seat,” Scott tells him, unusually stern. He never gets stern with Stiles. That’s probably why Stiles just nods and starts the engine. “Allison,” Scott says then.

“What?”

Scott looks over her head at Isaac, and Isaac says, “Jackson was making a lot of sense.”

“What!” Allison repeats in a completely different tone.

“You haven’t gotten a break,” Scott says. “You went straight from the awful stuff with your grandpa to, like.”

“Our relationship,” Isaac says easily, like they’ve discussed it before.

Nodding, Scott takes back over. “And you didn’t get a chance to like, think. And process.”

Allison frowns, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Wouldn’t I know if I needed to process? I’m happy with… I mean. We probably need to talk about it more, but I’m happy with us.”

“You haven’t talked about this?” Stiles asks like he can’t stop himself.

“Stiles!” she snaps.

“Sorry!”

“We aren’t trying to tell you what you should do,” Scott says, and he takes one of her hands in his. “You can handle that, I know. But like. Does it bother you?”

She doesn’t want to talk about this right now, that was the whole point of not bringing up her dream for the entire day they’ve spent together. “No,” she says.

“That’s a lie,” Stiles says, and Derek nods, looking out the windshield.

“Well it’s not an easy thing to… it’s. It’s just hard,” she says, looking at Isaac. “Of course it’s hard. My mom would’ve… killed you, in awful and horrible ways, and Kate. That’s… yes. It’s something I’m thinking about, and have to figure out how to live with it, but. I want to do that _with you_.” She looks at Scott then too. “It’s not like my options are find new best friends, all of a sudden.”

Scott tilts his head. “Okay. Good point.”

“Do you?” she asks Isaac.

He nods, chewing on his lip. “Yeah. No I get it. And it’s not like I have any room to talk, but. Are you talking to someone? About all of…”

Allison shakes her head. “No, but. I know I should, I just… really need to make sure all of you guys survive today. And for that, I have to be a little less in touch with how I feel.”

Stiles snorts in the front seat, and Scott does too. “Okay,” Scott says.

She offers her other hand to Isaac then, and he takes it and interlocks their fingers. “I love you,” she says, squeezing both their hands and looking straight out the windshield. “You plural. So I don’t want to have this conversation right now. Because the thing I can do best right now is keep you guys alive.”

Isaac looks past her, at Scott. “Sounds pretty good to me,” he says.

“Yeah I’m a fan of staying alive,” Scott says with a smile in his voice.

They’re all getting out when Isaac stays in for a second longer than everyone else. “I love you too,” he says to Allison, and then escapes.

She was wrong before, when she thought she wasn’t nurturing just because she also is fierce. She’s all the best parts of her parents as much as she’s the worst of them, a lover and a fighter both, cruel and too soft. And right now, as she straps weapons to her person, is the first time it feels like a blessing.

Dad gives her the electrified knife. “The voltage on this,” he says solemnly. “Will kill. Do you want that responsibility?”

“I’ll be careful,” she says, and he kisses her forehead.

The plan involves an ambush, of course. Dad loves an ambush. The alphas don’t think to sneak, they’re too confident in their brute strength. Maybe they should be confident; there are two more here that Allison doesn’t recognize. Then she does register - the one is the bald guy Stiles set on fire, mostly healed but his face slightly melted. The other, some guy she doesn’t know.

Whatever. Four or five or six, the Allison isn’t shooting to incapacitate; she hits Kali in the chest with an arrow first and brings her to her knees, tries to hit Deucalion but he deflects the shaft. Still, Kali falls, and Allison’s able to get the bald one down too. Then she stops shooting the shock arrows, because Scott’s pack is entering the fray, and then it’s just a sort of brawl.

Her brain processes the fight as a series of snapshots, clicking on the moments she needs to act. She moves to one side, picks a shot off at an alpha on the edge and drops him before he can spear Erica through the back with his claws. Jackson and Liam are going after the twins after all, their fight holding a strange kind of symmetry. She sees Dad shooting - not the indiscriminate spray she’s used to but careful, targeted shots - and sees some of the bullet holes in their foes, quickly turning sickly black from wolfsbane.

It’s not easy. Being in a pack has made the alphas stronger than ever, even the wolfsbane isn’t slowing them down as much as they were counting on. She starts to see injuries on her side, blood dripping down Jackson’s cheek, a jagged tear in Boyd’s jacket, bleeding wounds on the back of Isaac’s shoulder. Kira and Stiles are prepared, smoke bombs in lacrosse sticks, to cover a getaway, and Allison tries to keep her gaze broad, to tell if the tide is turning either way.

An opportunity - Kali is thrown back by Derek, flat on her back away from the others, and Allison fires three arrows in quick succession, the light threads of connection floating after them through the air. Kali jerks at the first shock, faints at the third.

Derek looks at her, nods once, and turns to put himself between Scott and Deucalion. Because it’s always been about Deucalion, for Scott. If he can, he wants to take him out and not harm the others. And they’re trying to do what Scott wants, but. Dad kills the bald guy for real with a bullet a little too well-placed, when he’s darting in with wolfsbane-laced handcuffs to keep Kali incapacitated. Everyone has a pair; she sees Jackson using his to restrain an incapacitated twin. It does feel like a tide is turning, one way or another.

Then Scott shouts. Allison finds him, sees the Deucalion’s claws in his gut and blood already spilled halfway down his leg. Derek runs into save him - Deucalion knocks him back one-handed, and Derek lands with an audible crack. And she sees Jackson and Liam exchange a look like they’re about to make a shot at it, sees Boyd and Isaac doing the same but Scott stops everyone.

“Stay back,” Scott says. “Don’t kill him.”

“You foolish child,” Deucalion says, and then he says more things but Allison isn’t listening. Derek catches her eye from the ground - he landed on the opposite side of Scott and Deucalion as her. He thinks they should go in together. And Allison’s willing to do anything that gets Scott un-impaled, so she sets her bow down slowly.

It’s easy enough to conjure up terror. “Scott,” she says and lets her voice crack. “Please, let him go,” she says, and walks closer. In plain view, while Derek creeps forward from behind. He’s holding one side of his chest. And just like she knew he would, Deucalion doesn’t see her as any threat. Even though she’d been just as deadly as anyone else here, he’s so ready to believe her to be the stupid teenage girl that he doesn’t see anything else. She gets close enough to touch Scott, to smooth her hand over his hair, but when she’s that close she can’t spare the attention.

“Beg for his life,” Deucalion says, fixing his horrible red eyes on her. “So I can watch your face as I take it.”

Instead, Derek digs his claws in deep from behind, lifting Deucalion with the force of it, even though it makes him cry out in pain. Deucalion tosses Scott aside - mission accomplished - and Allison can read the intention in him to turn around so before he can do that she takes out Dad’s knife and plunges it directly into his heart. Then she hits the switch, hears the jolt of electricity surge through him. It feels good. She wrenches him closer with the blade still in him and watches the light fade from his eyes.

This is not something that goes over well. The alphas still breathing all make a break for Deucalion, and everyone’s trying to hold them back and Allison just looks at Derek. There’s an expression on his face that she can’t read. “Nice one,” she says to him, trying to be magnanimous. They just won, she can afford to give him praise.

“Allison,” he says, and he’s looking down so she looks down and sees some sort of dark - oh. She’s bleeding. Oh, it hits her, Deucalion got her as he fell. It doesn’t hurt yet. It will probably hurt a lot, soon.

Derek’s closer to her, right in front of her and pulling his jacket off with a grimace. “Pressure,” he says.

She’s not sure if she’s falling or he’s guiding her down. The next thing she knows he’s holding the jacket to her stomach, pressing down _hard_ but that’s okay because she still doesn’t feel it. From a distance, she watches him, watches his blood soaked hands on her stomach. He could try to kill her again. He could watch her bleed out. “I think it’s going to hurt,” she says faintly.

“It will,” he agrees, and looks up. She can’t see what he’s looking at, her vision is narrowing.

“Allison,” someone else says. Lydia. She’s here, that’s good. She’s CPR certified.

Where’s Scott, Allison wants to ask. Where’s Isaac? But she doesn’t get either of them. She gets Derek, who’s holding her face for some reason, looking deep in her eyes. His hands are big. “Hi,” she says.

“Allison Argent,” he says. “You are not dying.”

“Obviously,” she says. “But I think I’m falling asleep.”

Falling asleep with Derek holding her. Never would’ve seen that coming.

For the second time in her life, she wakes up in a hospital bed. And directly next to her bed, a hand on her leg, is Derek.

He wakes up as she does, inhaling deeply and then taking stock of the situation quickly. “Whoa,” he says. “Hey. You’re okay. Don’t try and sit up.”

Allison listens to him, but only because it’s good advice. She moves one hand gingerly to her stomach and feels the thick mass of bandages over basically all of it. “When are we?” she asks.

“It’s the next morning,” he says. “Technically. You lost a lot of blood.”

“No shit.” She’s so tired the moment she’s awake enough to think, her head throbbing distantly. “You probably saved my life,” she says, as that occurs to her. “The first couple of minutes are important in wounds like that.”

Derek nods. No emotion, no hint of any feeling one way or the other. And that’s better than if he was embarrassed about it or like, apologetic or even proud of it. It’s something she can understand. She’s too tired to keep herself from connecting dots that might not go together, but - Derek isn’t particularly kind or cruel. He doesn’t allow himself to go too far either way.

“When you bit my mom,” Allison says, and he clenches his jaw visibly. “You knew she’d kill herself. So why didn’t you just kill her?”

His shoulders twitch up in a shrug. “You don’t think I killed her?”

“It was a suicide,” she says, her voice sort of distant. “I think there was something else going on. So. I’ve decided to forgive you.”

Derek withdraws his hand, stiffening with a kind of shock. Let him be shocked. Allison almost died; she gets to talk about what she wants to talk about. “Hold on,” he says. “Scott didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Your mother was killing him.” It’s said like everything else he says. No particular gentleness or malice. “I had to stop her, a bite was the only way I knew how to.”

Oh. A dull pain spreads from Allison’s chest through the rest of her, with every beat of her heart. This is not a surprise, she reminds herself. She knew Mom would if she could. But there’s an unexpected difference between knowing she would and knowing she had.

As much as he seems capable of, Derek feels bad. He folds his hands together in front of himself, tightly. “When you told me about her, I thought you were saying…”

Allison shakes her head, which brings the headache down behind her eyes. “So you’re saying I’m right,” she says, and then coughs instead of crying. It hurts just as bad.

“I’m gonna kill McCall,” Derek mutters.

“Where is he?” she asks. “Where’s everybody?”

“Melissa kept them out, it was touch and go for a while.”

Allison frowns. “But let you in?”

“I had six broken ribs,” Derek says patiently. “And a punctured lung.”

“They’re healed?” she asks, and he nods.

“Everyone healed just fine,” he agrees.

“No, you. Your ribs. Healed?”

He stares at her for several long seconds. “Yes,” he says then.

“I want to see Scott,” she says, and so Derek makes it happen.

When Scott and Isaac come in, Allison remembers retroactively she never asked for them both but she needed them both here. “I’m okay,” she says.

“Don’t do that to me again,” Scott says, and leans in to kiss her.

“I don’t think I’ll have the chance,” she says, and looks at Isaac sort of expectantly.

“Later,” Isaac says. “When Derek isn’t watching.”

“I’m not _watching_ ,” Derek grumbles, and leaves the room.

Isaac watches him go. “What do you need to say?” he asks then, and Allison loves him so fiercely for being so smart.

“Derek told me about my Mom,” she says, and watches Scott get guilty. “Why didn’t you? I was never going to take her side, or-”

“No, I know,” Scott promises. “I just… I couldn’t let that be the last memory that you had of her.”

He’s too good. He loves her too much. She can’t even talk about it. “The other alphas will leave us alone?” she asks.

“Definitely,” Scott says. “Which is good, because I think Boyd’s burned out on Stiles for a while.”

Isaac nods. “And Erica and Jackson almost fought in the waiting room until Scott calmed them down.”

“Full moon soon,” Scott says. “Everybody’s jumpy.”

“Get your mom,” Allison tells him. “Tell her I’m okay so everyone can come back here and get some sleep.” Was that too commanding? Scott goes with a cheerful little smile, so maybe not. And then it’s just Isaac and her.

He comes a little closer, with Scott gone. “Does it hurt yet?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “Don’t push it while you’re all drugged up, you’ll regret it.”

“I know,” she says. “I’ve been here before.” Once. And, her brain finally catches up, for him it’s been a lot more than once. “Thanks.”

“It’s funny how you and Jackson get along,” he says out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” she says. “Both afraid of intimacy.”

Isaac breaks into a smile. “Well,” he says, which isn’t disagreeing. And that’s fair enough.

The battle is over. Won. She can let down some of these defenses. She’s trying to believe it, everyone’s relaxed like it is, but then it occurs to her that maybe this is hard because she’s never known life without something she’s supposed to be fighting against. She’s not built for peace. But she’s not the only person broken by the war her family waged, not the only one who needs both forgiveness and permission to feel. She’s not alone.

“Hey,” she says to Isaac, and he raises his eyebrows, listening. “I hear the cafeteria has pretty good pizza.”

“Who told you that?” he asks, and she shrugs one shoulder.

“You want to get me some?”

The way he smiles tells her he remembers exactly what she does. “Only because you almost died,” he says, and leans in for a kiss before he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Derek really took me by surprise here, but in the end I really liked them as narrative foils. Jeff Davis has never met a theme he couldn't waste, smh. Their almost sibling-like relationship is a dynamic that is intriguing me... sort of sequel following up on that is [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26983810)

**Author's Note:**

> Please. Someone give Allison time to grieve the death of most of her family. I'm begging you.


End file.
